


Hang On, I Still Need You

by frostedgoddess



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Hunters & Hunting, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-17 22:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13668639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostedgoddess/pseuds/frostedgoddess
Summary: There's something out there, in the woods. And it's so much more dangerous than a wolf.But Peter and Stilestogether... will probably spend more time flirting, actually, than doing anything about it.





	1. We're talking kings and succession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavenderlotion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this piece, it was inspired by Jonathan Young and [his cover of Be Prepared](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLu5tPR2SFY). I never saw the Lion King, so his was the first version I heard.  
> [My tumblr, come say hi! (+rebloggable fic)](http://piesexual.co.vu/post/170844288956/hang-on-i-still-need-you-ao3-frostedgoddess)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again at the beginning of a fic! Happy Valentine's Day Y'all!  
> I hope you enjoy this piece, it was inspired by Jonathan Young and [his cover of Be Prepared](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLu5tPR2SFY). I never saw the Lion King, so his was the first version I heard.  
> [My tumblr, come say hi! (+rebloggable fic)](http://piesexual.co.vu/post/170844288956/hang-on-i-still-need-you-ao3-frostedgoddess)

Uɴʟɪᴋᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱʜɪғᴛᴇʀꜱ, ʜʏᴇɴᴀ’ꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘʟᴇ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴇꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴜɴʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟᴠᴇꜱ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴀʀᴇ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴀɴʏ ɢᴇɴᴜɪɴᴇ ᴡᴏʟғ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀɪꜱᴛɪᴄꜱ (ꜱᴇᴇ Hᴀʟᴇ ʟɪɴᴇᴀɢᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ), ᴀʟʟ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ʜʏᴇɴᴀ ꜱʜɪғᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ᴛʀᴀɪᴛꜱ ꜱɪᴍɪʟᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Sᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇᴅ Hʏᴇɴᴀ. Sᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇᴅ ʜʏᴇɴᴀꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ғᴀᴍᴏᴜꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ Tʀᴜᴇ Nᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ʙɪᴏꜱᴘʜᴇʀᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴠᴏᴄᴀʟɪꜱᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʀɪʟʏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʜʏꜱᴛᴇʀɪᴄᴀʟ ʟᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴀ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴄʀʏ.

_An extract from Scarce Shifters: Exotic Edition (vol. 1)_

 

“Stiles!”

Stiles groaned in protest, rolling over where he was lying down on Derek’s couch until only his back was visible, face tucked into the leather couch cushions.

“Stiles!” Derek tried again, tension evident in his tone. “We’re leaving soon.”

“I’ll get ready in just a second.”

“Stiles, you are not coming with us. Your leg is broken.”

“But- but my cast is coming off tomorrow.”

“Stiles, please, we’ve had this argument so many times already. You’re a badass with a bat but we can’t afford to be worrying about you falling flat on your face while we’re trying to fight off a pack that’s three times our size.”

“It might not even come to that!” Scott chirped from the kitchen where Allison was trying to teach him how to cook eggs, the third failed attempt to convert Scott into a fully-functioning adult.

“Scott,” Stiles deadpanned, his signed blue cast stretched out in front of him. “You’ve lived in Beacon Hills as a supernatural creature for three whole years. How many times since you were bitten has anything _not_ ended in attempted murder?”

“Hey, being optimistic can’t hurt!” Scott insisted.

“How many times?” Stiles insisted, stretching his toes, in agony after being partially bedridden for almost a month.

“Twice.”

“Twice!” Stiles exploded in response. “How on earth do you stay so positive?”

Scott didn’t reply, and Stiles looked over to Derek for a justification.

“He’s kissing Allison now.” The Alpha said, looking extraordinarily uncomfortable.

“Fuck my life.” Stiles said in return, trying to fluff his pillow without moving his head at all.

Derek made a grumbling sound but, without being asked, rearranged the pillows so that Stiles could be more comfortable while he waited.

“Stiles, listen.” Derek said, dropping into a crouch so that he was nearly face to face with the human.

“Listening, Alpha.” Stiles said, with a half-hearted, fully-mocking salute from his prostrate position.

“If something does happen to us, all my property and assets go into a trust for the pack. And, since you’ll be the only one left…”

“Derek, what the fuck? I’d rather have all of you than a million dollars.”

“We’ll be okay, we always are, and you know that.” Derek said, trying his best to reason with the cantankerous teenager. “And it’s a lot more than one million.”

“If you all die I’m moving into your room and living here with Peter.” Stiles said sternly, trying his best to make it sound like a threat.

“Oh,” Derek said gently, looking guilty and like he’d been caught out in a lie by omission.

“What is it, Derek?”

“Peter is going to be fighting with us tonight.”

Stiles froze, terror locking up all of his working limbs. Peter was a good fighter, yes, a born werewolf with years of actual training. But he was also, for lack of a better word, rather lazy. Peter hardly ever participated in real fights but every single time that he had, the fight had been brutal, and bloody. It was like the left hand of the Hale Pack had a sixth sense of when his capabilities would be needed. No one in the pack had mentioned it to Peter but he knew that Lydia, at least was burning with curiosity over how Peter always knew.

 

“So, you’re all fucked. It’s three to one with Peter there and with Peter there it’s guaranteed to be bad.”

Derek didn’t say anything, carefully avoiding Stiles’ gaze.

“Derek, please, let me come with you, I might be able to help.”

“Stiles- I can’t…” Derek trailed off, turning his head slightly that meant he’d heard something.

“What?” Stiles snapped, panicked.

“No, don’t worry, Peter’s just arriving.”

“Oh.” It was kind of pathetic really, the way that heat spread through Stiles’ stomach at just the mention of Peter’s proximity. Stiles knew that Derek sensed it, smelled his excitement, heard his heartbeat, because Derek carefully turned his head to the side, avoiding eye contact. As long as Peter wasn’t aware. But it was rather exciting, as Stiles hadn’t seen Peter much since he was injured, the man seeming extraordinarily uncomfortable with the plaster cast and thought of the broken limb.

 

“Stiles,” Peter greeted simply, only nodding once towards his nephew. “What’s wrong.”

“He’s worried about us, he wants to come and help as much as he can.”

“Derek!” Stiles gasped, askance. “You tattletale!”

 

Derek moved aside from where he was perched on the couch near Stiles, so Peter could sit down, Stiles struggled into a more upright sitting position so that all three of them would be able to fit, almost subconsciously curling into Peter’s warmth ever so slightly.

“Come on, Stiles, we’ll come back all in one piece, no problem.” Peter insisted, his hand a burning brand through Stiles’ thin shirt.

“You’re my family, too, I just want to help.”

“Stiles, your powers aren’t really developed enough for real battles, and not all of them are useful.”

“My abilities would be great in a fight!” Stiles gasped, forgetting himself for a second. Then he remembered, and his mouth closed audibly, the only abilities he’d let anyone in the pack onto, were the ones that he’d let rip in battle, or the ones he’d forgotten were part of his mother’s heritage, rather than his father’s.

“Really?” Peter said sceptically, “The mimicking is useless. Night vision, sure, it might get a little dark, but that’s not a weapon, and we know that you cured that feral werewolf, but we can’t know for sure that you can do it again, or even if you’ll need to tonight.”

“Magic?” Stiles offered weakly.

“If you don’t know where the abilities came from, the less likely it is that you will be capable of controlling them.” Derek chimed in, Stiles scowling at him, hard.

“The wolfsbane circle?” Stiles tried, but he knew it was a weak attempt, that his werewolf-proof abilities were a defence, not an attack.

Neither of the two older men acknowledged Stiles’ final comment, but Peter did wrap one of his firm, muscular arms around Stiles and pull him in tight against the long line of his torso.

Stiles kept his heartbeat calm through sheer, unyielding power of will.

 

Peter smelled amazing. Werewolves never wore cologne or perfume, the artificial scent and alcohol content repugnant to their overly sensitive senses. But Peter did smell warm, and like the outrageously expensive espresso that he drunk, a bitter tang on the edge of his breath. Stiles, at least, didn’t quite have senses keen enough to smell emotions, but there was that harsh, wet musk common to all the werewolves, the scent that was the first sign to Stiles as to what Scott had been bitten by, years ago.

 

In comparison, Stiles’ scent was thick with the warmth of frankincense, partly due to himself, the food he ate, places he went, people he touched, but part of it was so painfully similar to his mother’s allspice fragrance that it hurt.

 

Of course, the wolves didn’t know that the bone-dry scent was characteristic of a certain kind of creature. One that not even Peter, with all his black-market connections had ever even encountered once.

 

Not that it was much of a surprise. There were hardly many of his kind left.

 

“We know you’re ready and willing to help us, to die to protect this pack, your spirit was never in question, but Stiles, you are physically more vulnerable, and it would tear this pack to shreds to lose you.” Derek said, and Stiles was taken aback. It was corny and cheesy and so out of character that Stiles was (temporarily) struck dumb. Derek laughed then, unable to hold back his glee.

“You’re like our mascot. You’re very important to us all.” Peter added brightly, Stiles letting out a sharp bark of laughter. “And Derek got that from a movie, I’m pretty sure.”

Stiles laughed in response, realising. “I know! We saw that film as a pack only a few weeks ago!”

 

Stiles’ spirits were lifted, sitting in between his alpha and his… his Peter, the only werewolf he felt a true understanding towards. Then Boyd came in, jerking his head towards the door. It was nearly twilight, time for the wolves to go.

 

Stiles felt the absence of the two wolves keenly, the sides of his torso that had been warmed by their preternatural heat.

 

“Goodbye, my sweet, darling boy.” Peter said, voice slightly rough, despite all of the reassurances he’d just given. Stiles flushing scarlet as Peter lifted up his arm and pressed a gentle kiss to his right wrist, the exact same place that Peter had offered him the bite once upon a time.

 

Derek thwacked Peter on the back of the neck. “We don’t have time for your weird flirting. Let’s go.” He shot Stiles an apologetic look, clearly having heard the sharp increase in Stiles’ pulse, mistaking it for fear or fluster.

 

Stiles wondered what would have happened if he’d accepted the bite, when it was offered to him. It would have most certainly killed him, but Stiles couldn’t have hidden his lying heartbeat when he said he didn’t want to be like them. He may have hated Peter, feared him at that time, but wolves were strong, honourable creatures, protected by the virtue of their pack.

 

Stiles watched as the pack left. _His_ pack. He was lucky to have them, but he was confident that they would do well. The Hale pack hadn’t been in significant danger, no pack member had almost perished in over a year.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter walked only a few steps away from Derek, on the left, Scott matching each pace on the right, as the righteous hand to the Alpha. Scott, the most shallow-sighted wolf Peter had ever met, more inclined to give long speeches about his easily changeable moral code than truly stand up for what is right.

 

The Rochester pack was frankly, enormous. There were thirty filling the borderline clearing, and at least twenty more standing behind amongst the trees, just out of sight. Peter took a sharp breath, forcing his eyes not to flash blue in warning. Having the blood of innocents on the hands of a ranking pack member would be taken as an open threat, an admission of a lack of control. Or a lack of empathy.

 

“Alpha Hale,” The foreign Alpha said with a rather unsympathetic sneer. “The last time I said that, it was in reference you your mother. She was a much worthier opponent.”

“We do not have to be enemies.” Derek said softly, knowing that every wolf present would be able to hear him. “Under my mother we were allies.”

“Under your mother, you were a pack worth playing nice with, _you_ lead a band of teenagers and a human girl.”

 

Peter felt keenly aware of those standing behind him. The wolves ready and willing to defend the innocents of Beacon Hills. Ethan and Aiden, standing together, bringing up the rear with Jackson. Then Isaac, and Allison. Scott was parallel to Peter, Derek in front. Lydia had left the pack physically, studying in Boston under an ancient Banshee in preparation to become the Hale Emissary. She, at least, was safe. 

 

And lithe, precious Stiles, whom Peter had to beg Derek for, begged his nephew to leave Stiles behind, that not a single one of his odd assortment of powers could possibly be ever useful. Peter was a strategist, a tactician by trade, trained since Talia’s birth, when it was clear she was perfectly suited as a host for the ancient Hale Alpha flame. Of course, Stiles could help, but Peter would be useless, unfocused, he couldn’t bear for a moment to risk Stiles’ life.

 

The Rochester Alpha growled, a snarl of disrespect. Derek carefully stayed silent, but Scott rose to the insult, sneering back with his mouth full of teeth. Immediately, three betas closed in around their Alpha, likely the three best fighters, unlike the Hale pack, who were standing with the left and right hands, only appropriate for democratic meetings.

 

Peter should have insisted harder to come prepared for war. Especially since that would have meant storing Scott right up the back, with the better fighters up front. Scott’s on-again, off-again relationship made a shitty anchor, leading to shitty self-control.

 

“Apologies, Alpha,” Derek said, clearly very tense, “My right hand is bitten and has no experience within a formal pack structure.”

“Obviously, your control over your wolves is lacking, it would be better for you, if you abdicated.”

“I built up a new Hale pack from the ashes, I’m not about to give it all up to you, because one of my betas pulled a faux pas.”

Several of the foreign wolves growled.

 

Then the Rochester Alpha leapt forward, aiming right for Derek’s throat. Derek leapt out the way and thick werewolf claws sliced into his chest, Peter could detect the soft snick as claw met bone, scratching slightly across his nephew’s ribcage. If Derek hadn’t moved in time or as far, he would have been flayed alive. Or, have his head removed forcibly from his shoulders.

 

Immediately the three betas leapt at Scott and Peter. They’d assumed that those two were the most vicious fighters. They were wrong, well, maybe half wrong.

 

Peter kicked one of them in the face, leaping out of range. Scott’s arm crunched as his humerus was pulverised. Allison screamed and tried to take out her bow, but she was already at too close of a range to nock an arrow.

 

Then the battlefield burst in to motion and a cacophony of snarls. Outnumbered, the Hale pack had no hope of winning but there was also no chance that any of them would go down without a hard fight.

 

 

Peter could hardly breathe through the thick stench of blood, dripping from his teeth, his claws, and from a deep cut parallel to his collarbone. Adrenalin was making his hands shake as he ripped desperately at a female beta’s leg. The limb came free with a sickening crunch of bone and sinew. A gush of blood flooded Peter’s senses, hot, wet; stinking, scarlet. Immediately another wolf took her place, ignoring his fallen comrade’s body. Peter knew his eyes were glowing blue, but he didn’t care about what the Rochester’s thought about any of it.

 

The new beta wasn’t messing around and immediately closed his hand around Peter’s straining throat. He was obviously a newbie, because any wolf worth his salt would have severed some arteries when faced with an exposed jugular.

 

Peter, now that he wasn’t in motion, could hear the other pack members, Scott was unconscious, Allison sobbing from a dislocated shoulder and knee. Everyone else was quickly losing strength against the odds.

 

Peter arched his neck a little more, ignoring the threat of basically shoving his Adam’s apple into his opponent’s teeth. And he howled, he howled as though there was a cavalry, as though there was someone who would come. He could hear the other wolves in his pack joining in, reduced to their bare instincts in the face of their own extinction.

 

Then, the impossible. The forest began to creak and rustle as something fast approached. Someone was coming. Some _thing_ was coming.

 

Hope rose in Peter, even as he was thrown back against a tree. Hard. He didn’t know what could possibly be responding to their distress, the distress of his cracking ribs, but even a few moments of distraction would let the pack heal any more immediately threatening wounds before returning to the fight. A hysterical laughter echoed from deep within the trees.

 

Then all hell broke loose. Well, maybe not _all_ of hell, but part of it. A creature that was reminiscent of Peter in his monstrous Alpha form, but gleaming golden in the nearly completely faded light of the sunset ripped from the tree line.

 

Peter felt horror and fear flood him, and it had nothing to do with the rapidly approaching beta. He had no idea what that thing was, so in all likelihood, it belonged to the Rochester pack.

 

Whatever it was.

 

The creature surveyed the clearing with black, cold eyes. Then it opened its snout and let out another bout of maniacal laughter.  The beta Peter was fighting reached a conclusion half a second before Peter did.

 

“Hyena.” The man breathed, before a massive claw sent him hurtling into the trees.

 

Up close, the beast was terrifying sight. As it turned to cut down three more foreign wolves, Peter could see that the creature was rippling with muscles and silvery scar tissue heavily marred its snout down its cheek, missing its right eyes by millimetres.

 

He must have made a sound, or moved in the creature’s periphery, because it turned around and looked down at him. Peter exhaled. He never thought, that the moments before his death he would be thinking about an eternal will-they-won’t-they with a lower-ranking magic user.

 

But instead, the beast turned, taking out four more betas. Within the span of a few minutes, the hyena had reduced the remaining Rochester pack members down by seven.

Even with barely a single minute of rest, Peter was back in fighting shape, if not fighting fit. With their efforts and the Deus ex Machina, there were only four werewolves that weren’t members of the Hale pack, and they all looked beyond terrified.

 

The last four omegas bolted towards the edge of Beacon Hills territory, abandoning the dead bodies of their ex-pack mates and running for their pathetic lives. Without an alpha, they had no pack.

 

Derek had, at some point, eventually overpowered the foreign alpha, a stray larynx held loosely in his clawed hand as though he’d somehow forgotten about it. Peter was flooded with such intense relief that his knees almost gave out. Perhaps it was the extended blood loss though.

 

The monstrous creature looked down at Peter, and for a second, Peter could have easily believed that the beast was about to turn on the pack it had just saved. Then it huffed, preternaturally heated breath clouding in the night, as opaque as the steam from an old-world train engine. Their eyes met, bright, glimmering blue with black. There wasn’t enough light to expose the fractional difference between the animal’s black sclera and its brown iris. Peter’s mind immediately went to the dark eyes of the demons he saw on Lydia’s television one night. The eyes paired with the grizzly scar lead the creature to an air of demonic terror, despite the generous actions of the stranger.

 

Then the strange creature turned, and used its giant muscled legs to propel itself into the opposite direction that the werewolves had gone. Towards town.

 

“Wait!” Peter tried to shout out, but his voice cracked before he could draw breath, his ribs splintering sub audibly. He had questions, even though he was well aware that the creature could kill him with immense ease. Peter didn’t want to die with a crush on a first-year college student. If it wasn’t Stiles of all people, Peter would have blamed it on some mid-life romantic crisis.

 

 

And that, as they say, was that.

 

Except not, because the pervasive scent of hunters strengthened as they approached from deep within the preserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A significant chunk of hyena abilities and powers are drawn from mythology taken from Persia (Iran), Nigeria, including the Bornu tribe, and Ethiopia, mainly their Kaffa Kingdom and the Ethiopian Bouda religion stemming from the tribe of the same name. Also, the mimicry is taken from _Crocotta_ by the Roman author Pliny. I don't go into too much detail within the fic as, of course, Stiles isn't from Iran or Africa and I felt as though it would be insensitive to imply that his powers came from there. 
> 
> Please leave a comment, and I hope you are excited for chapter 2!


	2. My Words Are A Matter of Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter this week as a birthday present to myself!  
> Enjoy a little bit of hurt/comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I'd really like it if you left me a comment. My birthday is on the 17th, but here in Australia, it is the 17th.   
> [My tumblr, come say hi! (+rebloggable fic)](http://piesexual.co.vu/post/170844288956/hang-on-i-still-need-you-ao3-frostedgoddess)

ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴇʏ ᴅɪғғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ʜʏᴇɴᴀ sʜɪғᴛᴇʀs ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏɴ sʜɪғᴛᴇʀs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡᴏʟᴠᴇs, ᴄᴏʏᴏᴛᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴇʀ ɪs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ғᴜʟʟʏ sʜɪғᴛᴇᴅ ғᴏʀᴍ ᴅᴇᴠᴇʟᴏᴘs ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴛʟʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ғᴏʀᴍ. ᴀ sʜɪғᴛᴇʀ ᴍᴀʏ ʟᴏsᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴍʙ ɪɴ sʜɪғᴛᴇʀ ғᴏʀᴍ ᴀɴᴅ sᴜғғᴇʀ ɴᴏ ɪʟʟ-ᴇғғᴇᴄᴛs ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʙᴏᴅɪᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴠɪsᴀ ᴠᴇʀsᴀ…  
 _An extract from African Species, European Blood: Mapping shifter bloodlines_

Peter looked up into the steely face of a hunter, leaning more than half of his weight onto the boy. Chris Argent’s posse weren’t at all pleased about having to come rescue a bunch of delirious and injured werewolves. But at least they’d stopped with the high-pitched whining after seeing how many dead wolves there were. Parrish was helping tidy everything up back at the clearing with the help of John Stilinski.

 

Chris was quietly telling Allison off for not warning him about the now-extinct Rochesters, taking the opportunity while she was immobile in his arms, while the other teenagers were in varying states of healing and consciousness.

 

“So, what happened?” One of the younger hunters asked, obviously viewing the blood-draped Alpha with significant trepidation. “When we heard Allison’s distress call, we thought we’d at least have a few more werewolves to kill before helping you guys home.”

 

“I actually don’t know.” Derek admitted. “Some terrifying creature came out of the forest and killed a bunch of them for us before running off. Looked kind of like Peter’s Alpha form.”

 

Chris was paying attention at that. “What was it? How did it know not to hurt any of you?”

 

Derek shrugged again, the hunter helping him walk almost collapsing under the shift in incredible weight. Derek was healing the slowest, his wounds all coming from an Alpha, and needed the most support, but for some reason, the smallest looking hunter was helping him.

 

“It was a werehyena.” Peter said softly, looking forwards, not making eye contact with the fear that he’d trip and fall. “I’ve never seen one, or even a picture of one. But the beta I was fighting recognised it, and it makes sense.”

 

“Werehyenas are a _thing_?!” Scott gasped, eyes bugging.

“Oh yeah, though I’ve only ever heard stories, there aren’t many left.” Chris said, looking older and infinitely more tired than ever in the long evening shadows.

 

“So,” Derek began, “Is the Alpha hyena in Beacon Hills to bite people to form its pack? Save the species?”

“No.” Chris said. “Everything you said was wrong. The hyena gene can only be passed on genetically, not through the bite, and Hyena’s don’t have Alphas, they can all transform into what – for werewolves – is the Alpha form.”

 

“Plus,” Peter added, “Hyenas aren’t pack animals, there aren’t even enough of them to successfully form packs even if they were.”

“How do you know so much about those things?” Isaac asked, still awfully out of breath. “If you didn’t even know what it was when you saw it.”

“Deaton knew one, he used to tell me stories as part of my training.”

“Deaton trained you?” Isaac asked, looking adorably confused. “You’re older than him?”

Peter laughed, regretting it immediately when his ribs ached. “He’s almost eighty, druids age differently to normal humans, the magic slows everything down.”

“Woah.” Scott breathed, obviously thinking about his boss under a new light.

“So, if there are so few hyenas, the one Deaton knows must be the same one who saved us.” Isaac chirped brightly.

“That’s a solid theory.” Derek agreed. “We can go talk to him, find out why the hyena helped us now and never before, and also why he decided not to tell us that there was another shifter in Beacon Hills capable of decimating an entire pack at the drop of a hat.”

“Not right now though, yeah?” Isaac asked, his thigh wound had opened back up with his walking and was bleeding again. “Stiles is going to be worried.”

“Stiles!” Scott gasped. “He can help us find the hyena, to thank him and ask why he helped us.”

“Scott.” Jackson said, tense but still clearly making a solid effort to be patient. “Stiles is great, but so far the powers he has developed don’t exactly lend itself to tracking down exotic shifters.”

“No, no.” Scott slurred insistently. “Using his Sheriff’s powers, finding people powers.”

“What’s Stiles going to be searching for?” Chris asked. “The Sheriff’s database only has details on _human_ characteristics.”

“Well, maybe he would have records of people, felons, driver’s licenses, but not shifters.”

“But the hyena had such bad scarring.” Scott said quietly.

“I honestly don’t believe I’m saying this.” Peter said. “But McCall is right, there has to be an incident report, or an investigation into a suspicious hospitalisation or something for an atrophic and keloidal scar across half the face.”

“Don’t you people heal without hospitals or something?” Asked the hunter helping Peter walk.

“Well if it scarred, then something must have happened to prevent it from healing smoothly, hyena wolfsbane or whatever. And if I had a wound that big that wasn’t healing, I’d go to a hospital.” Jackson spoke again, his voice slightly stronger.

Jackson’s hunter looked at Chris with a terrified look. “You said the Sheriff was in on it! I don’t wanna get arrested for packing an arsenal while toting around a bunch of injured children.”

“Oh, he is in on it.” Derek said, voice still rough. “It’s just tricky to convince him to help us without getting him physically involved. We don’t want him to get hurt. He’s almost pack.”

 

They broke the tree line and the pack house came into view. Stiles was sitting back on the veranda, looking kind of rough. He seemed softer around the edges, more harshly lit, Peter felt sort of woozy as he drunk in Stiles’ dreamlike beauty. Peter made to rush forward but collapsed on all fours in agony. The young man who had been helping let out an irritated and exasperated sigh.

“Hold up, gramps.” He said, helping Peter to his feet, Stiles trying to stumble upright from his spot on the stairs.

“Derek!” Stiles shrieked, and Peter had to force his heart not to betray how hurt and disappointed he felt as his stomach contracted painfully. It was dumb anyways, Derek was far more severely injured than Peter.

 

Stiles lead them back into the house at an awkward pace, his leg was all but healed at this point, but the big clunky cast still caused him to walk like he had a limp. Peter felt his eyes go lax, his body finally insisting that he slow down after hours of fighting and a slower healing rate.

 

“I’m so glad no one died!” Stiles chirped, helping Derek lay back on the couch he had thoughtfully pre-prepared with a heavy layer of towels. “Did these lovely young chaps help you guys?”

 

“Are you a werewolf?” One of the younger girls asked, she couldn’t be more than twenty. Peter sank to his knees at Stiles’ feet, where his packmate was seated on the couch, pressing a cheek onto Stiles’ knee, letting the rich, spicy scent soothe and ground him from the spinning world. Peter was so out of it that he missed what Christie said next. “Why won’t your leg heal? And the fight was over by the time we all got there.”

“It _is_ healed. First off.” Stiles snapped. “And I’m human. We don’t heal as fast, but we do heal! Who even are you?”

 

“My name is Christie, Mister Argent called me when Allison called him during the fight.”

“And what?” stiles said, voice dangerous like the edge of a blade, god it was fucking adorable the way Stiles threatened people. “You thought, fuck it, I’ll take my sweet time getting there?”

 

“Stiles.” Said Argent, voice calm. “I swear, we came as fast as we could. I understand why you’re upset but all’s well that ends well. Right?”

“So…” Stiles began thoughtfully. “You’re all in awful shape.”

 

“’Scuse me!” Peter slurred, a hand coming up to slap down on Stiles’ other knee. “I’m damn fine.”

Stiles froze, glancing down where Peter was pressed against his knee. “You okay?” Stiles murmured, quiet enough that even a human in Peter’s position wouldn’t have heard a thing. Peter felt heat flood him, plus the heat from where his cheek was pressed to Stiles’ deliciously muscled thigh. He nodded softly.

“So, you all look like you’ve really been put through the ringer, if they didn’t help, what happened?” Stiles asked.

 

“You won’t believe it!” Derek gasped, sounding childish in his fuzzy glee. “There was a hyena.”

Stiles levelled him with a stony glare, then turned his gaze onto Chris. “So, barring an actual zoo escape, do you want to tell me how no one died?”

Chris nodded. “Not a normal hyena, a werehyena apparently came in out of nowhere…”

Peter coughed, drawing attention from Stiles, back to where it belonged. On him. “It responded to our howls, not out of nowhere.” Peter was actually pretty pleased with himself that he managed to form a coherent sentence, when he felt like he was actually already asleep, dreaming up this entire absurd encounter.

 

Seven werewolves, and twelve hunters walk into a house…

Peter laughed to himself, drawing more weird looks from the hunters hanging around. Peter wished that they wouldn’t. On their side or not, the deep scent of wolfsbane that was all but ground into every one of their countless pores made him feel scratchy.

 

Stiles paused again, looking down at Peter with some concern. One of his beautiful, muscular hands came to grip in Peter’s hair, ruffling the edges as he pet him. “Why isn’t my pack healing properly? Why are they all acting high?”

 

“Our fault.” Chris said, looking apologetic. “Usually I take a biohazard-level shower before seeing any of the wolves, but we were messing around with Siberian larkspur when Allison called.”

Stiles looked thoughtful for a moment, but before he could draw a conclusion of his own, Christie chimed back in.

“Delphinium flowers?”

Stiles scowled. “Those are genetically pretty similar to wolfsbane.”

“Because we work _with_ wolves now,” One of the male hunters said, “Which we are excited for by the way.”

“We’re getting the inside scoop!” Christie chirped. “Plus, Mister Argent said we can trust you, so you can let us know who’s actually breaking the code.”

The man glared at her slightly at the interruption, but otherwise continued smoothly. “We were looking at ways to dilute the wolfsbane so if we used it in a fight and some did accidentally get on our team, no one would actually die.”

“I read about this!” Stiles brightened, straightening from his seat on the couch. “None of the books mentioned the crazies, but wolves, with enough prolonged exposure can become completely resistant to Delphinium strains.”

“Wow.” The male hunter said. “We actually didn’t know that, we just assumed that as a cousin of the species, the effect would be less. I’m Lance, by the way.”

Stiles raised his hand up in a wave, physically cringing when he realised how awkward it looked.

“Great to meet you, I’m Stiles!”

 

The world flexed and shifted further, the effects of the flowers somehow more intense now that Peter knew he was drugged.

 

“Now…” Stiles began, “What’s the deal with the hyena?”

“So! So!” Derek gushed, skin greasy, eyes glassy and glistening wetly. “There we all were, Allison was like crying or something, Scott was asleep. I was dead.”

“Unconscious.” Allison corrected gently, her point rather undercut by Scott’s snuffling snore. “And, you weren’t dead at any point.”

“And then, Peter started howling, then I howled.” Derek bumbled on.

“And the rest of the wolves too.” Jackson guided carefully.

“Then, it came, a giant alpha thing.”

“Not an Alpha.” Chris added. “A beta equivalent.”

“And it was really mad. Like more mad than Laura that one time she found out I kidnapped her boyfriend during the full moon.”

Derek paused, waiting for a fourth interruption, but when one never came, seemingly high-fived himself.

“Jesus, man,” Stiles asked the tiny hunter who had carried Derek. “How much of the Delphinium did you have on you?”

The hunter shrugged sheepishly, trying, and failing desperately to discretely brush off some of the pale dust clinging to his shoulder pads.

“He was so mad that everyone died.”

“Not all of them, dude.” Stiles chirped, then froze. “I’m assuming, since, there were like thirty of them.”

“Then, then he looked at Peter, and was so scared of Peter he ran away into the Preserve.”

“Noooo…” Peter murmured quietly in protest, sounding sleepy, and heartbroken and pretty damn high.

“Sorry, buddy.” Stiles said, running his fingers through Peter’s hair, accompanied by a strange flipping sensation through his midsection. “You can be pretty scary.”

“No, no,” Jackson’s protest was soft but deeply thoughtful, his pupils were the smallest out of the werewolves. “It wasn’t like fear, it was like he was checking Peter over, making sure he was okay. Sounds weirdly specific, I know but the hyena didn’t touch a single member of our pack, never even hesitated once, I think it knew us somehow, maybe we’ve met him or her in human form. Stiles, the hyena had a scar, can you ask your dad about anyone who matches that description?”

“Um…” Stiles sighed, “I’m not sure, my dad might not like it, and a lot of people have scarring, especially in a town like this.”

“It was really gross!” Derek called out.

Stiles stiffened for a single moment in alarm at the loud tone. Peter grumbled at him as the hair stroking stopped.

“He must be so cool!” Drugged up Derek shrieked at a high pitch, even as his eyelids began to flutter closed. “He probably got the scar fighting off sixteen hunters armed with wolfsbane.”

“Hyenas are unaffected by wolfsbane, it doesn’t hurt them at all, there is an equivalent, but I honestly couldn’t tell you what it is.” Chris admitted, looking rather cowed at the reluctant confession at his singular shortcoming.

“That’s fine!” Stiles said loudly, “I mean, you guys said he saved your lives, right? So, why would you need to know how to kill him?”

“We don’t know why he helped your pack.” Allison said, grim. “The hyena could have any number of reasons to help the Hale pack, that benefit him rather than you.”

“Or!” Scott suggested, “He could be trying to help out, so he can join the pack.”

“Yeah!” Stiles agreed cheerfully.

“Now, all we have to do is figure out who he is.”

“I think I might head on home, actually.” Stiles burst out with a breath of air, “I have to get my cast taken off early tomorrow and I can do some research on werehyenas and stuff.”

“How are you getting home?” Chris asked, eyes kind. “You can’t really drive. How did you get here?”

“Derek came and got me.”

Derek Hale was currently lying back, eyes shut, making quiet airplane noises to himself.

“I’ll drive you home.” Chris offered and fished his car keys out of his pocket.

 

“Don’t go.” Peter said, still curled up at Stiles’ feet, head on his knee.

“But, I’ll see you tomorrow!” Stiles promised. “If you’re awake early enough, you can drive me to my cast appointment.”

“Okay. Bye, babe.”

Stiles flushed scarlet. And left without a word. Sure, it made him feel all tingly to hear Peter call him babe, but he couldn’t allow himself to revel in that sort of attention while Peter was whacked out of his mind.

“See you tomorrow, Peter.”

Stiles barely made it home before collapsing on his couch, the exhaustion of using long-dormant abilities and emotional rollercoaster, draining him in every conceivable way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohmygod I'm fucking obssessed with Starbucks marshmallow coffee. Either try their S'mores Frappuccino or get it without coffee for essentially a marshmallow milkshake.
> 
> Please come message me on tumblr if you want to chat at all!   
> [DerrickHale](http://piesexual.co.vu/)


	3. You'll be rewarded when at last I am given my dues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek, stop trying to make Packmergencies happen! It's not going to happen!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the birthday wishes everyone!!!

ʜʏᴇɴᴀs ᴀʀᴇ ɪᴅᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴘᴀᴄᴋ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟs ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴜᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴏᴡ ʀᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴏғᴛᴇɴ ʟɪᴠᴇ ɪɴ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ-ᴇxᴄʟᴜsɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴀᴄᴋs (ʜᴜᴍᴀɴs ᴍᴀʏ ʀᴇғᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪs ᴀs ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ) ᴏʀ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ.

_An extract from Scarce Shifters: Exotic Edition (vol. 4)_

 

Stiles woke up curled up tightly on his couch, feeling weak as a kitten. The house was cold, the front door banging slightly in the breeze. Crap, he’d forgotten to close it. There was minimal likelihood of a real natural break in, but it was something of a minor miracle that none of the neighbours had called his dad about the ajar door. The Sheriff was halfway through a twelve-hour shift by now. Stiles had left the pack house barely after midnight, so he’d only slept for a few hours. He felt hollow.

 

He’d had no choice; his pack had howled for him. He wasn’t sure how, but he’d expected them to see him when they came home and just somehow _know_. But they didn’t. Apparently, none of them had even noticed the bitter tang of dextroamphetamine weaving its way through the scent of the hyena.

 

Well, they all were significantly injured.  But Stiles must be careful, he might not be so lucky next time, he had to be extra vigilant. Scott discovering that Stiles was a werewolf, or a banshee, or had hunter heritage would be better. Anything, would be better than being discovered as a hyena. Stiles knew how it would go, they would all pretend like it was the lying that they had a problem with, rather than the hyena. But sitting amongst a creature that could rip you apart like almost nothing else, a creature that represented the closing and opening of the loop of life. Unbidden, the Lion King’s circle of life rose furiously from the recesses of Stiles’ mind. His mother had always called it a loop, because it was round, but not identical always like a circle was, it changed. God, Stiles missed his matriarch, his alpha, Claudia always knew what to do. She would have found a way of breaking the news years ago, gently enough that Stiles eventually would have earned his forgiveness for being the disgusting scavenger that he was.

 

Claudia would have hated hearing him talk like that.

 

After waking himself up with three cups of coffee, Stiles dragged out his old notepad and started formulating a plan.

 

As far as he knew, Stiles didn’t have too many options. He could try and feed the pack and those hunters false information, but Deaton knew his mother and he wasn’t sure what she had told him, and what he could get away with lying about. Or, he could share the right information and hope than none of them tried to use it against the gigantic hyena.

 

Or, Stiles perked up, he could wait to see what Deaton knew, and then divulge the same information, plus some red herrings to herd suspicion away from himself.

 

Stiles felt his phone vibrate to the tune of his ringtone in his pocket. Ugh.  Without even checking, Stiles knew it would be his dad. By now, one of the pack members would have called The Sheriff with details about the attack, and the ‘mystery saviour’, his dad could add two and two together to make four. He hadn’t shifted since his mother’s death, his dad probably had a lot of questions and even more support for him.

 

The doorbell rang, and Stiles leaped up to his feet before remembering that he was supposed to still be ungainly and awkward on his feet and forcibly slowed himself down as he went to answer.

 

“Hi, _babe_.” Stiles said, barely controlling his glee. “How’s my favourite chauffeur? Ready to take me to the hospital?”

“Yes.” Peter said, squirming. “I’m sorry, for yesterday. I was high as all hell, but I do remember kneeling at your feet and being stupid.”

“That’s okay, I mean, it was weird, but Derek was whacked out of his fucking mind and I was more focused on his strange retelling than you giggling to yourself. I’m not angry.”

“Oh?” For some reason, Peter seemed smug. “So, if you’re not mad, then that means that you won’t be needing the apology presents I bought you.”

“Presents?” Stiles gasped. “Plural?”

“Of course, I did make something of a fool of myself, and you were nothing short of wonderfully patient.”

 

Stiles’ legs felt weak and coltish, the limbs to match his own big, Bambi eyes. Peter opened the passenger door of his…

“Holy shit, Peter is this an Aston Martin?”

“An Aston Martin Vantage, actually. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

“Is this new?”

“Relatively, but I’ve only gotten to drive her a few times, it’s Beacon Hills.” The two men exchanged a meaningful look, “I didn’t want to risk her being destroyed. Like my poor, sweet Shelby 1000 Cobras.”

“ _Plural_?!” Stiles screeched as the car sped towards Beacon Hills General.

“I did have two.”

“What happened to them?” Stiles asked, a flash of concern filling him as he considered the possibility that it was an Argent-related issue, a fire-related issue.

But Peter didn’t elaborate any further than, “Beacon Hills happened to them. A real tragedy.”

“A clear travesty.”

“I honestly cannot believe that in this demonic hellmouth of wolves, witches and hyenas, that you managed to break your leg falling down your very own staircase.”

“If it helps my case in any way, I did break my leg on my way to an issue dealing with wolves.”

“A birthday party for Isaac hardly counts for a pack emergency.”

“Isaac was so apologetic. It was so funny.”

“I suppose it must have been, I was a little… you know, filled with the agonising pain of a shattered tibia.”

Peter snorted, somehow making it sound attractive, rather than scornful. He parked right out the front of the hospital.

“Thank you, you know, for driving me, I would have thought that you would have been sleeping off a delphinium hangover.” Stiles said as he was physically helped out of his seat.

“Oh, Derek definitely is, he was weeping like a teething infant over a minor headache.”

“Maybe it was a worse headache than it looked?” Stiles offered weakly.

“I drained some of his pain and it barely registered.”

Stiles shrugged, sort of expecting that. “For someone who once asked me to cut off his arm, your nephew can really be a giant baby over minor boo boos.”

Stiles paused. Then something occurred to him. “I never really thought that you felt pain that you too from other people. I guess it had to go somewhere and it all makes sense. But I just never really considered it.”

“Scott has mentioned to me during training that you two are aware that a werewolf needs to care in order to take pain.”

“Yeah, we figured that out eventually.”

“Well, that’s why werewolves need to care, we need to wish that we were the ones suffering over the one in pain.”

 

The conversation devolved quickly into bickering over Peter’s choice in parking spot (i.e. The emergency ambulance bay). He claimed that the fine wasn’t that big of a deal, but he moved anyways, so Stiles won.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After the laborious process of getting his cast removed was over, Stiles let Peter assist him physically to the car. Stiles remembered to awkwardly hobble, as though he wasn’t used to using the muscles in his left leg to move around. It was something of a surprising joy to be able to _pretend_ to be a damsel in distress, requiring Peter to put his lovely, manly hands all over Stiles’ lithe body, rather than actually being in imminent physical danger.

“So, where would you like to go?” Peter asked, regarding Stiles with affectionate warmth from the driver’s seat. Stiles felt suddenly, irrevocably, safe. “What if we go get coffee somewhere quiet, so you can give me your presents.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Peter’s laughter dripped, warm and smooth as fudge down Stiles’ spine.

“Sure thing, baby.” Peter said, smiling as he took his car onto Main street away from any coffee shop that Stiles was familiar with in Beacon Hills.

“Peter, I just really need to know, what is your impression of the werehyena? Derek seems to think he’s the coolest thing ever, even though I doubt he’d admit it freely while not being drugged. The hunters, including Allison seem a little more suspicious, Scott was excited about meeting a new shifter, but honestly you really can’t trust that boy’s opinion.”

“I mean, he saved our lives, I’m not saying I’m ready to offer him or her a position in the pack with no stipulations. But they did save our lives, so they deserve the benefit of the doubt until further notice. What about you? I know you weren’t there, but I refuse to believe you haven’t done research about hyenas already.”

Stiles hadn’t, but that’s because he didn’t really need to.

“Hyenas aren’t exactly famous for being trustworthy. Or very trusting. I think it’s unlikely the hyena will let us find them.”

“Why is that?”

“From what I’ve read, the reason that there are so few hyenas, is because even other shifters used to hunt them down.”

“What?!” Peter was so surprised he took his eyes off the road to glance over at Stiles.

“Hyenas are symbols of the loop of life, conception to death, all the way to reincarnation, which means that they…or more accurately, their body parts are very useful for the creation of life. Necromancy, resurrection, guaranteed fertility. That sort of thing.”

“Fuck.” Peter swore. “Chris mentioned that hyenas were very rare, but this just means that we should make an extra effort to bring our hyena into the pack, help protect them and any of their family. You know, after we ask them why they helped us, now of all times, how he responded to a pack howl when none of us even know who he… or she is.”

“Good call.” Stiles looked over at his friend. Peter and Stiles were very close, and Peter was the ruthless left hand of the Hale Pack. So, it was hard, occasionally to assimilate the mental image of Peter turning frightened teenagers in a forest at midnight, with the family-oriented, protective man, that he _also_ was.

“Hey, Peter,” Stiles said, voice tense and quiet as something occurred to him. “Usually…when people say they want to go get coffee…they don’t really mean it as a friendly activity.”

“That’s true.” The beta agreed, and if Stiles hadn’t been so intestine-churningly nervous, he would have been upset at how adorably amused Peter sounded. “What of it?”

“Well, you did ask me to have coffee with you, one on one.”

“I did.”

“So, did you mean it, like that?” Stiles was practically throbbing with blushing heat, able to feel his own heartbeat in every single extremity. “Did you want to ask me out?”

“Oh, yes.” Peter purred, and Stiles’ brain went completely blank.

 

Peter, the lascivious, occasionally creepy werewolf had clear, bright eyes that betrayed almost nothing. And occasionally, bright, neon eyes that betrayed everything of a dark past he sought to leave behind. But now, looking up at Peter, Stiles could tell that, while Peter was trying desperately to appear unaffected and seductive, that he was inwardly quaking. But Stiles wasn’t the type to be dragging out dramatic pauses to deny himself something he wanted.

 

“I accept.” Stiles blurted out unusually formally. “Date me.”

Peter blurted out a gasping laugh. “It’s not a job interview, sweetheart.”

“But… I have to ask you something.” Stiles said, feeling his moment of bright joy recede back into himself as he followed Peter out of the car and towards the coffee shop.

 

Stiles fell silent as Peter ordered for them, a latte for the werewolf, and a marshmallow frappé for Stiles. Stiles would have complained about the high-handed behaviour if he hadn’t spent a full ten minutes talking about how magical marshmallow coffee was, just four days ago. 

 

They tucked themselves behind a towering bookshelf, tomes of varying sizes pressed together at odd angles to force all of them to fit, forming a wall that blocked out most of the rest of the store.

 

“What do you want to ask me?”

“Why now?” Stiles asked, “I mean, I always figured we’d end up dating at one point, or at least you’d fuck me against a tree after we win a battle…”

Peter choked on his complimentary water and a barista came over to deliver their drinks.

“But I was in a cast and now the thing with the hyena. Why’d you ask me out right now?”

“A couple of reasons.” Peter sighed. “I mean, I was having a lot of fun getting you flustered.” He looked wistful for a moment.

“I knew you did that on purpose.”

“Of course, I did.”

“Continue.” Stiles practically demanded.

“So, I was face to face with the hyena, and I was almost certain I was about to die and all I could think about was you. I could practically smell you, I was so focused. And once I was safe, before I got high, I figured, it’s been two years of us flirting and yeah, we’ve all escaped every crisis in one piece, but next time I might not and then I would die, again, never having to get to… how did you put it? Fucking you against a tree while we’re both flooded with adrenaline.”

 

Then, just as Stiles was thinking about leaning in a little closer to (fucking finally), press his lips against Peter’s, his phone went off with a carefully curated assortment of beeps that meant it was Derek. Despite months of what Stiles and Erica repeatedly referred to as “Friendship Physiotherapy”, Derek hardly ever texted or responded to texts except for what he alone, referred to as ‘Packmergencies’. It wasn’t catching on.

 

**Derek**

Deaton says he has information with regards to the ‘werehyena’ that we encountered. Meet at the veteran’s office as soon as you can. - Derek

*veterinarian’s - Derek

 

Stiles laughed, and seconds later, Peter’s own phone went off, and when he saw the message, he chuckled too, though somewhat reluctantly.

“If someone who have never met my nephew had to make guesses as to what he was like based on these texts alone, do you think they’d assume he was eighty, or just seventy-five?”

“I know right.” Stiles said, hopping up with a grin, and leaning in quickly to peck Peter’s cheek with a mischievous grin. “Now, let’s go see if Deaton knows anything that will be able to help.”

“I’m hoping that his contribution will be a phone number and a full name.”

“What?” Stiles screeched. “W-why do you think Deaton will know who the hyena is?”

“When I was child, growing up alongside Talia, Deaton helped to train me and her both, and I remember him telling me, when I was older, that he knew a hyena. Since they’re so rare, it’s most likely the same one.”

“Oh, right.” Stiles said quietly. “I guess that would make sense.”

Despite the fact that it had already happened four times that day, Stiles still felt a rush of excitement at having Peter open the car door for him, like a old-timey gallant gentleman.

“Thank you,  _ sir _ .”

Peter’s answering chuckle left finger-trails of answering warmth across Stiles’ skin. “Maybe save that sort of dirty talk for our third date.” He said with a wink that made Stiles feel hot under the collar.

He’d thought about sex with Peter before, many, many times. But he’d always maintained enough pride and self-control to avoid fantasizing about it when Peter was close enough to be able to smell the deep, rich sweetness of Stiles’ arousal.

The unbidden image, so intense that Stiles could practically feel it, of Peter pressing him down into Egyptian cotton sheets managed to get Stiles an answering growl.

“You smell so exquisite, darling, when you’re turned on for me.”

Stiles’ response was a high, breathy sound of utter delight.

“So delicious, but you really need to calm down or I might not be able to control myself. And our first time is going to be so much better than unplanned car sex. I don’t have wipes or mouthwash or anything.”

“Damn.” Stiles cursed, but the detailed of logistics managed to soothe his libido, as he didn’t want his pack to be smelling jizz on his breath or in his clothes. After a few seconds of calm, Stiles felt a different kind of heat creep up his neck. It was humiliating to have been reduced to whimpering. Actual, honest-to-god whimpering, by a few fantasies and murmured endearments.

By coincidence, Peter and Stiles arrived at the same time as the rest of the pack, who had clearly all travelled to the vets from the Pack House. Allison was fine except for the brace over her knee, but all the wolves looked like they were struggling through their very first hangovers. Allison let out a sharp wolf whistle and called over. The other wolves clapped their hands over their ears and winced.

“Damn, that’s a nice car.” She paused. “Peter! Can I drive it? Pretty please?”

“No.” Peter said flatly, walking around to the passenger side where Stiles had already leaped out of the car, forgetting for a moment that he should still be stiff and sore. Stiles adored Peter treating him like an expensive date, but if he started letting Peter treat him so fragile all the time, it would only reinforce Derek’s idea that Stiles was too fragile to spend time with them training or fighting. Also, Jackson and Aiden would never let him hear the end of it.

“But why?” Allison whinged, pouting artfully. “I’ll be really careful!”

“You once ripped a part off of Stiles’ Jeep to stop him from following you to a fight. You obviously don’t respect cars enough.”

“How did you know about that?” Stiles demanded. The hit over the head had hurt, but not as much as having to shell out for unnecessary repairs. The necessary ones cost enough as it was.

“Oh, I have my ways.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Deaton!" Scott exclaimed, happy to see his old boss. "We've had the best few days."

"Scott." Deaton greeted. "I do hope that your idea of the best time isn't being inadvertently poisoned with Delphinium Grandiflora."

Scott had the gall to look surprised at the reprimand. "But I haven't even had a chance to get drunk  _ before _ I was turned!"

"I was under the impression that Mr Stilinski and Ms Martin had managed to crack that little problem with their werewolf-specific alcohol formula."

Deaton missed that completely unsubtle backwards and forwards motion Stiles was making across his throat. 

"Stiles!" Scott gasped so sharply that it sounded like it must have hurt his windpipe. "You didn't tell me!"

"It was going to be a surprise!"

"Anyways!" Derek snapped sharply, lisping over a hint of his fangs. "Hyena. We met one, and we were hoping to get in touch with the hyena that you know as they're most likely the same person. We'd like to offer him a position. In the pack." 

Deaton shook his head. "I'd love to introduce her to you. Unfortunately, she is very dead."

Stiles felt his stomach cramp painfully. 

"Are you sure? We met a giant, fully shifted hyena in the forest who seemed to know who we all were well enough to pick off the other pack members. We assumed it was a man from the general masculinity. But it could have been a woman." 

"The female hyena was a Paterfamilias of her family. An alpha, in werewolf terms. She was bright gold and almost eight feet with big ears but no tail. And, I really cannot stress this enough, but she died more than a decade ago."

"Okay." Derek finally conceded. "It wasn't her then. So, the hyena we met was a little over seven feet, dark colouring and I distinctly remember a tail. A relative then? Or is the missing tail a genetic thing and we somehow have had two unrelated of the rarest shifters on earth grace our town over the past few decades?"

"I was under the impression her pack was all human, but it's distinctly likely that she was lying to protect a son or nephew, even a young husband." Deaton paused as if thinking things over. "She wasn't tailless, her tail had been ripped off in a fight."

"We saw that thing fight." Peter said. "What would've powerful enough to permanently disfigure an Alpha of that?"

"I only ever met her in shifted form, so I don't know as much as I would from a real conversation, but really, anything could have. Hyenas have to be vicious fighters; their healing is only fractionally better than a human."

"Well, then that would explain the awful scarring that the hyena had." Peter said slowly. "And this puts us back at our original plan. Sheriff, can you use your resources to find a man or woman with that specific scarring, they must be local to know who we are so well."

"Not so fast." Deaton cut in, Stiles felt his stomach sink. "Hyenas also have a unique ability for compartmentalised injuries. If they are injured in one form, all they have to do is shift to their other form and they're completely unharmed. They can escape diseases, even missing limbs. It's unlikely that the hyena’s human form is disfigured."

"So," the Sheriff said, sounding oddly smug. "We're looking for a human who can turn into a non-Alpha hyena, age unknown, male or female or not, likely living in Beacon Hills but we don't know for how long. No super healing that would lead to any odd rumours. And Stiles... mentioned that in human form, hyenas don't have much abilities above that of a human, or even a beta shift." 

"That's true." Deaton acknowledged. "They can flash their eyes, but I'm not sure what colour."

Jackson looked hopeful for a moment. "Did any of you get a good whiff and remember what he smells like?"

"Peter got the closest." Derek pointed out. "Close enough to smell him."

"Well, I was in fact dying of blood loss at the time. I don't know for sure if I could pick out his scent again. I guess I would describe it as warm, definitely masculine, maybe an essential oil or something else from a tree? Maybe I could recognise that scent again, most people smell of deodorant and oils, food they've eaten, but from my own description, he smelled moreover perfume than person, a rare trait indeed."

"A lead!" Scott shrieked. "This is great!"

"Also," Jackson spoke again. "We might not know how old they are specifically, but they had flawless control so I'm thinking they've been and gone through puberty and they're obviously young enough not to have any greys, or ageing skin. So, under fifty at the maximum."

"Good point." Derek said, patting Jackson's shoulder with intense warmth and approval that made Jackson glow. "Sixteen and fifty is a big gap, but at least we have a start. And, despite what you said, Sheriff, the hyena must have enough powers in their human form to be able to tell that we're werewolves. We don't know what other abilities they might have but it's a start."

"I'm confused about something." Said Isaac, who had been quiet up to this point. "Why are werehyenas so different from us? We've met panthers, jaguars and even a coyote, and sure, there were a few variations in weaknesses but they all could pass on their species through bites, none of them had compartmentalised injuries and all of them had the beta shift."

Deaton smiled, clearly impressed by the depth of the question. "I don't know for sure, not a lot of people do, but I do suspect that the myth that actually holds the truth comes from Nigeria, where it's said that witches can transform into hyenas. In which case it would actually be a rare magical gene rather than a species like werejaguars or coyotes. There isn’t any other magical species that I know of that has many similarities to all the nuances of the werehyenas.”

“That’s good.” Derek said. “This one is already a force of nature, we’re lucky, for whatever reason, that it’s on our side. I, for one, am glad that there aren’t more, virtually unstoppable weres running around the preserve. We just need to talk to them about their motivations to make sure everyone can stay safe.”

“Wait.” Stiles said a little desperately. “What if the hyena doesn’t want to be found and you piss it off? It could hurt you. Any of you.”

“You’re right Stiles.” Derek said. “But we didn’t make it this far, stay alive for this long by turning a blind eye to potential dangers and hoping that other people stay on the straight and narrow. And the hyena fought for us but we don’t know why, maybe it was just trying to gain our trust? Also, they know us all to be able to identify us in battle without pause.”

“And.” Peter cut in, making Stiles feel, rather like he was being ganged up on. “They also responded to a Pack Howl. So, either they’re using magic to listen in on things that only pack members should be able to hear over long distances. Or, the hyena was close enough to hear the Howl normally and chose not to help for the first twenty minutes.”

“Stiles.” Derek said gently, “I really do understand your concerns, but I also understand that there is no way that we can find this guy…”

“Or girl!” Scott yelled out pointlessly.

“…Or girl.” Derek admitted after rolling his eyes. “Without you; you’re our secret weapon.”

“You do have a certain knack for these sorts of things, Mr Stilinski.” Deaton said.

“So, what do you need from us, what’s your plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so when writing this, I totally forgot that Erica wasn't in this, so Allison ripping apart Stiles' car was originally Erica whacking him over the head with part of his car but she isn't here!


	4. Injustice Deliciously Squared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 420, blaze it. Except there's no weed, nothing is on fire and no one is having a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early, I know, but I had an awful fucking day so read this
> 
>  
> 
> _logic_

ʜʏᴇɴᴀ ɪɴʜᴇʀɪᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ ɪs ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ʀᴇᴄᴇssɪᴠᴇ ɢᴇɴᴇs ᴡᴇ’ᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ sᴏ ғᴀʀ, ʀᴇᴄᴇssɪᴠᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sʜɪғᴛᴇʀ ɢᴇɴᴇs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟғ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sᴜᴘᴇʀɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ɢᴇɴᴇs ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴏʀᴄᴇʀʏ, ᴡɪᴛᴄʜᴄʀᴀғᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀɴsʜᴇᴇs. ᴛʜᴇ ʜʏᴇɴᴀ ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴏɴʟʏ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀssᴇᴅ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ɢᴇɴᴇᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʙɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ ʀɪᴛᴜᴀʟs. ᴛʜɪs ᴍᴇᴀɴs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜʏᴇɴᴀs ᴀʀᴇ ɪɴᴄʀᴇᴅɪʙʟʏ ʀᴀʀᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀʟsᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ sᴇᴇᴍɪɴɢʟʏ ᴏʀᴅɪɴᴀʀʏ ʜᴏᴍᴏ sᴀᴘɪᴇɴs.

_Supernatural Sciences, Grey, S. (2002)._

 

Peter watched as Stiles blurted out a plan in a tone that belied the fact that he was just blurting out the first things that came to mind. However, when Peter’s mind caught up to the speed of Stiles’ mouth, he realised that what Stiles had said was a good, solid plan resting on the basis that the hyena could be anyone.

 

Except for one, tiny, detail.

 

Derek, and Isaac were scouting out the preserve for scent trails to follow or give hints about the identity of their saviour.

 

Scott and Jackson were headed to the Beacon Post to request back copies of older papers. Scott for his beaming grin, and Jackson for his reputation as rich and difficult. Just in case, Stiles had said, that there was a record of a crazy facial injury.

 

Allison and the twins were all headed out to the Argent house to question the new hunters that Chris had hanging around. Information about the hyena species was sparse, so even second-hand stories would be helpful.

 

Stiles, his _dad_ and _Peter_ were headed to Stiles’ house for research. Peter would be the first to boast that he was smart, but research was not necessarily his strong suit. Usually, Peter had some helpful information stored away from his education at a young age, but he didn’t derive the same manic glee from ancient tomes that his younger friend did. He was, however, the oldest werewolf and had the best sense of smell next to Derek with his bonus alpha abilities. And the Sheriff was usually best at legally getting them criminal records and crime reports but Stiles had _Danny_ on that?

 

It made no sense. Which is how Peter knew that something was wrong. He suspected, at first, that Stiles was taking him to his house to help with research as an excuse to kiss and flirt. But then his father? Something wasn’t right.

 

Peter carefully stayed quiet, watching as Stiles pushed his dad into the passenger seat of his V8 Vantage and crawled into the negligible space that was the back seat. The expensive leather squished and squeaked under the shifting weight of the teenager. They left the cruiser in the parking lot of Deaton’s. The Sheriff didn’t protest at all or even comment. So that was red flag number two.

 

Peter nodded and responded generally to the Sheriff’s questions about the performance of his V8 car. But internally, Peter was just concerned. If Stiles was anything like Scott, Peter would have suspected that he was about to take this opportunity to tell his dad all about his brand-new relationship. But this was important to the pack, and Stiles wouldn’t be bringing in his personal problems until either the hyena was found, or Derek told them to give up.

 

Peter pulled into the Stilinski driveway, behind Stiles’ “Roscoe”.

 

He climbed out first, pausing when the Sheriff nor Stiles made a motion to get out the car.

“Are you sure about this Stiles?” Peter heard John ask.

“I need someone on my side, Dad.” Stiles said, “I can’t keep protecting myself forever.”

“I know… but Peter Hale?” He sighed, climbing out of the passenger side and walking forward to open the front door.

 

Stiles must have known Peter had heard their bafflingly cryptic conversation. Peter felt something akin to the pull of the full moon rush through his blood as he contemplated what Stiles needed protection from that he felt he couldn’t share with the pack.

 

Another pack member? Scott, perhaps? Peter never liked him once he started hearing that useless beta run his dumb mouth. A human being? Someone at school?

 

They shuffled into the house, Peter heard a man in a nearby house gushing over the gleaming chrome of his car, though he didn’t seem to know what car it was. Stiles waited until all three of them were inside, and immediately spun around and locked the door, deadbolting it shut.

 

“Peter, I have to tell you something. It’s important.” Stiles blurted out instantly, pushing Peter further into the house.

“Whatever you need.” That answer was easy, giving into Stiles’ needs always was.

“You might want to sit down, son.” John said, leading Peter by the hand to the kitchen table and pushing him softly into a seat.

“What exactly is going on?” Peter asked. He didn’t get frightened often or easily, but something was making Stiles’ musky scent twist with anxiety and fear. Something, that Stiles was about to entrust Peter to protect him from.

“Peter…” Stiles inhaled deeply. “Peter…I,”

“Spit it out!” John yelled out.

“I’m the hyena.”

 

Stiles’ heartbeat did something alarmingly complicated, but it felt a lot more like fear than his body confessing to a lie.

 

“You. You, are the hyena?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry.”  Stiles… _pleaded_?

The Sheriff sat by silently, watching the exchange, eyes following the verbal exchange like a tennis ball across a court.

“You should be, we’ve been rushing all over looking for the hyena, why wouldn’t you tell us now? Even though you decided not to tell us when Scott was first bitten, which I understand partially, it was a shitshow back then.”

“That’s it?” Stiles gasped for air, sounding like he’d just raced up stairs. “You’re only mad at me because I didn’t tell you?”

“What else would I be mad about?”

“That I tricked you into letting a _hyena_ into the pack.”

“Stiles, let’s go find the rest of the pack and talk this through together.”

“No!” Stiles gasped in horror, big eyes going wide. “You can’t tell them, you have to help me, so they don’t figure out who I am.”

“Stiles.” Peter said patiently, teetering the edge of kind and condescending. “None of our pack members are going to care that you’re not human, though I can’t imagine that they’ll be happy that you’ve been lying about it for your entire life, they’ll be happy that you can help us from now on.”

“I can’t!” Stiles said. “Even if our pack doesn’t care, if I start spending time in my hyena form, then I’m detectable to other people looking for hyenas and I’ll be caught.”

“Stiles, we’ve fought hunters before.”

“Nott like this, son.” The Sheriff said gently. “Not just humans, but other shifters, druids, mages, all set on getting the body of a hyena,”

“What?!” Peter spat, then he paused, recognition dawning. “This is like when you were telling me about how hyena parts can be used for necromancy. Isn’t it?”

“Actually,” The Sheriff said, sounding sad. “Most common of all is people desperate for a child. Barren women with Alphas desperate to pass on the ability, or even a druid acting on behalf of normal human beings willing to part with enough cash and look the other way.”

Peter grunted, Stiles’ scent of agony and fear was strong enough that he could have sworn that he was experiencing that pain himself.

“I understand the desperation to bring life into the world.” John said, collapsing suddenly into a seat next to Peter. “Claudia and I tried… we tried for so long. And,” He took a deep breath, “I know she considered it, at least, a limb for a son, a leg for a child, but we know Deaton would have refused.”

Peter inhaled sharply through his teeth.

“Is…” The beta began shakily, “Is that what really happened to your mother? Some infertile human or a necrotic obsessed mage?”

“No.” Stiles said, and his tone was very nearly sharp, “She really did die of frontotemporal dementia.” He spoke a little too quickly, but Peter just turned, to look at father and son.

“So, why did you decide now to tell me?”

“You, you were the closest to me when I was shifted, and I know you could smell me. I know I smell slightly different while in hyena form but you’re smart enough that you’d make the connection before too long.”

“I must say, you’re taking this very well. Stiles hasn’t even had to shift or anything.” The Sheriff commented, sounding suspicious. “You really just believe us?”

“Stiles has no reason to lie…” Peter said, “But it actually makes a lot of sense, a boy willing to run with wolves, who wished he was like a wolf but refused the bite…”

“Five times now.” Stiles sighed. “I was tempted every time, but it would almost certainly kill me.”

The Sheriff sighed, looking disappointed. “Your mother taught you to be careful of your abilities but not to be ashamed.”

Stiles shrugged, but he knew his dad was right. “Blame the Lion King?”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles felt warm and calm curled up between his dad and Peter, a random talk show playing sleepily in the background. The peace was shattered by Peter’s phone starting up a ukulele cover of Hungry Like The Wolf.

 

Peter groaned in annoyance but made no move to even check who was calling. Stiles cheekily slipped his hand into Peter’s front pocket, eliciting a squawk of surprise as he took out the phone and answered.

 

“Hey.” He chirped, not having checked the caller ID.

Derek responded, “Peter…wait, Stiles?!”

“Yeah, we’re just here doing some research.”

“Come back to the pack house, the twins, Isaac and I have found some things that we need to discuss as a pack.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Stiles saluted even though Derek wouldn’t be able to see.

“Did you guys find out anything that could help?”

‘Uh, maybe?” Stiles hummed, “We can talk about it when we get there.”

He hung up quickly, fumbling with the phone.

 

“Stiles,” John cajoled softly, and by the tone of his voice it was obvious that he was about to try and convince Stiles of something. “You’ll have to tell them sometime. Or do you want Melissa to keep putting on casts for six weeks for injuries that barely last a fortnight?”

Peter gasped in betrayal. “I can’t believe you made me take you to the hospital to take off a cast you didn’t need!”

“Really?!” Stiles laughed out. “ _This_ is what you chose to be mad about? And I did need it, my body can’t heal magically from like removed limbs like Derek did that one time. It just heals faster.”

Peter nodded but now, he saw every injury Stiles had received under a new light; the sprained ankle, and the concussion that had gotten him out of school for three weeks.

“Dad, you have work in like five hours, so you stay here.” Stiles froze. “Sorry, I forgot that you were the only one here who couldn’t hear that phone conversation.”

“You’re going back to the pack house because Derek has found out something to do with the hyena and wants to discuss it in person rather than over the phone as an entire pack?” The Sheriff rattle out smoothly.

“Damn, you’re good.” Stiles said, taking Peter by the hand and dragging him towards the door.

 

Once they were both in the car, Stiles grabbed Peter by the wrist and leant in close.

“Thank you, just, for everything, thank you. You’re the best.”

 

Kissing Peter was something that Stiles thought about often. Not like all the time, but a normal amount of kiss-thinking for a teenage boy who had a crush the size of California on a man more than twice his age.

 

That being said, Stiles wasn’t expecting one of Peter’s warm, smooth hands to grasp him by the back of the neck and drag him into a kiss that made his toes curl in his ratty converses. Peter’s hands were callous free, aided by his werewolf healing. It seemed at odds with his harsher personality, but Stiles kind of loved the contrast. He felt as though his blood was being brought to a slow boil underneath the precisely passionate focus of the oldest Hale.

 

When he drew back, he was almost surprised that the windows hadn’t fogged up.

 

 

“Stiles, we can talk about all of this later, I’ll let you do all the talking about everything we found doing ‘research’ at your house. But I haven’t done anything that a real pack member wouldn’t. Except for the kissing, that should just be me.”

 

Stiles laughed, blushing shyly as Peter drove the two of them back to the pack house. His mind was racing, what information the others managed to find out and what he could get away with telling them. It occurred to him briefly to completely make up some facts and lie.

 

He didn’t think he could.

 

They arrived quickly, Stiles leant in for a quick kiss, pecking Peter on his smooth-shaven cheek, beaming at Peter before getting out of the car.

 

“Ethan and Aiden aren’t here yet with Allison, but they called ahead and said something really serious happened and they’re on their way.” Derek said upon opening the door. “Isaac and I do have some worrying news though.”

 

Stiles and Peter found seats amongst the patchwork of seats that filled the pack house lounge room. They weren’t sitting next to each other, but Stiles’ lap was immediately full of an ecstatic Isaac.

 

“You’re all better!”

“Sure am, dude.” Stiles laughed. Some pack outsiders thought it was weird how touchy-feely Isaac got but Stiles understood. You spend a few years not getting much physical comfort from your one remaining parent and any friendly touches helped to fill the void left by one parent forcibly taken and one abandoning you very nearly on purpose.

 

“Aiden and Ethan broke the perimeter, they’re on their way.” Derek said, then froze. “There’s a lot of footsteps following.”

“Are they being chased?” Stiles asked, heartbeat jackrabbiting faster.

“Yes…” Derek started, then relaxed. “No, it’s Chris’ new buddies from yesterday.”

 

Stiles took out his phone and prepared to wait the five minutes it took for the average werewolf to travel from ‘the perimeter’ of Derek’s alpha hearing, to the house.

 

“So, the scary thing Isaac and I found was that the hyena stink was all over town.”

Stiles chuckled nervously. “Well, they live in Beacon Hills. Their… um, stink would be all over the place.”

Isaac jumped in, “Including the school!”

“So,” Derek said gently. “It’s either a student or a teacher.”

“I bet it’s a student!” Scott said, “All the weird creatures turn out to be out of control teens.”

“But we already know that the hyena has enough control to turn into it’s full-shift form and enough power abilities to somehow overhear a Pack Howl for a pack it’s not even in.”

“It could have just been close by.” Peter pointed out. “I, for the very first time, actually agree with Scott, it’s a clever student.”

 

Derek agreed with his Uncle, clearly more hopeful than confident that it was a young student, rather than an adult. Peter reckoned that it was because Derek felt it would be easier to menace a teenager into his pack than an adult with a teaching degree and a whole existing life that would interrupt his schedule of rescuing the pack whenever needed. With slight pressure from Jackson, Derek eventually admitted that it was more likely to be an adult than a student at Beacon Hills High.

 

Isaac agreed that it was probably an adult, but he reckoned that it was a maintenance _dude_ , or a parent than a teacher because he _would totally get a vibe if he saw the hyena every week_.

 

Stiles looked over at Peter. “Actually, we found out that hyenas are basically the creature that represents the circle of life.” It felt weird to say the circle instead of loop, but it would be a little too odd to suddenly be using unusual phrasing. “So, they’re all born with perfect control over their abilities.”

 

“No fair!” Scott screeched. “That doesn’t even make any sense!”

 

“Werewolves are creatures of the moon, and hyenas are creatures of life and death.” Peter said brightly, making it sound like he had been more involved with the research.

 

Isaac huffed, “That makes me kind of mad, I had to work so hard to stop wolfing out when I got mad and a toddler hyena would have perfect control.”

 

“Yup!” Stiles chirped, “That’s gotta be rough.” He didn’t even bother pretending to be sorry.

 

Aiden and Ethan barged in, followed by the ten hunters that had helped them out the other day.

 

“Before you come in any further,” Derek demanded, “Tell me you haven’t been messing around with Delphinium recently.”

 

“We’re clean!” Lance said urgently. “But some people have taken Chris and Allison! Hunters!”

 

“WHY?!” Derek roared at the twins. “Didn’t you tell me that when you CALLED?”

 

The twins meeped in unison.

 

It felt a lot more claustrophobic in the living room with ten extra people, last time they’d all stood up but this time everyone had their own chair in a circular formation.

 

“So, who took them?” Stiles asked immediately.

“We’re not sure,” Christie said, “But their house was a mess and their front door was broken in half.”

“I thought you guys were all working together?” Peter said softly, being careful not to sound accusing.

“We figured out what was most likely the weapon combination that would hurt the hyena and she went back home to get it.”

“She _what_?!” Stiles spat, his scent spiking in fear and pain.

“Hemlock root dried and turned into a fire used to forge an axe.”

“Yeah.” Stiles choked out, Peter eyeing him, concerned. “That’ll do it.”

“I didn’t tell you, to find hyena-murdering weapons, just if anything that would help us find out who they were!” Derek cried out. “And even if she figured out what would help in a fight against a hyena, why did she go off on her own to go get it?”

“Uh…” Ethan began, “After Stiles told us the plan, Allison got really weird about it, she figured that there had to be a reason they were so rare and there was so little information about them.”

Aiden switched over, “Christie told her about how she heard that her mother met a hunter and werewolf group hunting for hyenas in Canada and Allison decided that it was probably because they’re all super evil.”

 

Derek rolled his eyes. “Well, I suppose this is somewhat of a positive thing, if she’s tied up somewhere, then she isn’t off murdering innocent were-creatures with an axe.”

“Hey!” Scott protested predictably. “If Allison thinks that the hyena is dangerous then I believe her.”

“You shut up!” Peter snapped. “You have no sense of judgement and you can’t just accept Allison’s random thoughts as gospel all the fucking time, or have you already forgotten about how she insisted that there was no way the Fae were going to try and kill us if we asked them to return the children they swapped! The sixteen newborns they stole just for laughs.”

Scott was suitably chastised after a few seconds as he waited for Stiles to leap to his defence as usual. Stiles just glared at him, thankful for Peter’s protection.

 

“We’re still going to go rescue her.” Derek reassured slowly, though Stiles noticed the distinct absence of any defence of Scott or Allison. “We’re going to rescue her, then we’re taking her axe off of her. We don’t want to finally track down this hyena and frighten then or worse, anger then, by bringing a hyena…. murderator slayer.”

 

Jackson snorted from his position near the window. “Since when do you call weapons slayers?”

Isaac giggled. “You’re right Jacks, Derek is talking weird.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed uncharacteristically, lolling back in his chair.

“I am not!” Derek grumbled, crossing his arms and slumping.

“Ooh,” Peter said, looking over at Stiles and winking. “Baby Alpha is being a grumpy pants.”

Stiles looked back him, agog. He was too stunned to realise that something was very wrong.

 

“Guys?” Jackson said again, concerned, standing up from his seat and rushing over to check on Isaac, who looked confused.

“When did the hunters get here?” Isaac asked, suddenly sinking in on himself and looking frightened.

“Stiles?” Jackson said, he looked over his shoulder back at Stiles, fearfully frightened for how the wolves and even the unquestioningly human hunters were starting to act.

 

“Hey!” Lance yelled over at Stiles. “Bubble butt!”

Stiles looked over at the usually composed, suave hunter. Lance was leaning heavily on Christie’s shoulder.

“Look what I can do!” Lance yelled again, unnecessarily loud for the small space. He then proceeded to make his eyebrows dance.

 

Jackson tried to stand up and nearly collapsed under his own weight. “I can’t feel my legs.” He stage-whispered before collapsing right into Isaac, the wooden chair he was seated in collapsing under the weight of the ex-kanima in free fall. The only audible reaction from either of them was the sound of all of the air in Isaac’s lungs being forced out in a sharp whoosh of breath.

 

“Are you guys absolutely sure you didn’t have any Delphinium on you?” Stiles asked the dull-eyed hunters.

 

“Yes.” One of them said, but that didn’t explain the listless wolves. Or, the listless humans.

 

Then. “Stiles.” Peter lisped, “I can’t feel my feet. This was more fun last time.”

 

Isaac was playing a gentle game of ‘why are you hitting yourself?’ with Jackson, who had pupils the size of the moon.

 

Then, Derek jerked upright. “I…I can smell something.”

“Is it the hyena?” Peter asked, winking obviously at Stiles, who groaned to himself.

“No, smells kind of like wolfsbane, or the dolphins-ium.”

 

Derek stood up, and in a feat of his Alpha strength, launched himself at full speed towards the ceiling. One clawed hand shot up and grabbed the air vent grate moments before Derek reached the full height of his jump and his twisted his wrist as he shot up the final few inches, landing smoothly in Superhero Landing Pose™, with the grate still held in the tip of his claws, followed by a showering of purple powder.

 

“Aconitum violaceum.” Stiles murmured. “Purple Wolfsbane.”

 

There was a very normal, not at all weird reason that Stiles was so well versed in the different strains, forms and effects of Wolfsbane and its numerous genetic cousins. He read it in a book. He was immune to wolfsbane even to the extent that humans were vulnerable to its toxic effects, something often forgotten.

 

There was very disturbing reason that the book had records of all that information. The hunter equivalent of animal testing. One alpha, beta and omega ranked wolf all subjected to extensive exposure to each strain. And it wasn’t some ancient tome either, the book had photos in black and white accompanying every list of symptoms.

Photos of wolves in various staged of shift, limbs so numb they could barely hold themselves upright, pupils consuming their entire iris. The only cure was to remove the contagion, and everyone would be back to normal within three hours, sooner if adrenalin flushed out the drug. Except, Derek has basically just dumped the rest of the powder all over the top of them. Stiles got up and started to usher everyone outside.

 

“Yay!” Jackson said, voice unusually high pitched.

 

Peter waited until everyone else was outside before leaning forward and licking a long stripe up Stiles’ neck. So much for keeping the whole thing nice and subtle until they were ready to discuss the bombardment of questions that would be barraged at them from the rest of the pack.

 

The human effect was more of a mystery, but Stiles was easily able to pull up the toxicity information.

 

“Good news for the humans, you’ll be fine in a few hours, though you’ll be numb for most of that.”

 

And then, the most irritating man alive. Stiles’ longest friend, Scott “Puppy dog” McCall.

“Wait, don’t we need to go rescue Allison.”

 

The cold air, combined with the anti-anti-werewolf presence of a werehyena meant that the wolves were coming down off of their high, healing kicking in for their sleepy and hyperactive moods. But, unfortunately, not for their sleeping limbs as the wolves all collapsed together, trying to lean on each other – the grass giving way underneath their sliding feet.

 

Stiles was thankful at least, that with his superlative night vision, he could see that their pupils were back within normal range, even though they were still on the gargantuan side. The wolves had their minds back even if the hunters didn’t.

 

“The bad hunters must have put the powder in the house to stop us, which means they must have left a scent trail.” Ethan said, slowly regaining his mental faculties.

“We can follow it to find her.” Aiden finished.

 

“No, you can’t!” Stiles gasped at them. “You guys can barely stand. Actually, scratch that. You guys can’t stand at all!”

 

“Allison!” Scott wailed out into the afternoon glimmering trees. “They can’t keep us apart!”

“Shut up!” Peter groaned, looking rather worse for wear. “Allison can’t hear you.”

“No one comprehends the love I have for you. Allison!” Scott was sobbing now, and Stiles had a hard time resisting the urge to kick him in the ribs.

 

Stiles paused for a moment, looking over at the hunters who were – literally – sitting in a small circle and singing kumbaya. He realised then that the humans were still off their nut, and he was glad enough that the wolves were distracted by the failings of their own bodies to notice that Stiles wasn’t sitting with the human, but was actually the only one of them who was managing to stay upright while the violet powder came down from his hair in tiny flurries like ultraviolet powder snow.

 

Then, the crooked-jawed beta was scrambling upwards and starting towards the tree line. “Who cares what they think, I love you and I’m coming!”

 

“Fuuuuck!” Derek groaned loudly, rolling onto his back. “I know I have to follow him. But would it really be the end of the world if I took a nap and let the hunters keep him with Allison and Chris?”

“You’re thinking out loud.” Peter reminded his nephew.

“No, I’m not thinking, I’m actually asking. What do you guys think?”

 

They voted, and then stumbled upright to go and rescue Scott. It was the funniest thing Stiles had seen in a really long time.

 

“Stiles, can you stay and take care of the hunters?” Derek asked, before shaking his head to clear it and loping off in front of the pack to follow Scott into the woods.

 

Stiles looked from where the wolves were rapidly disappearing into the trees and then back at the hunters.

 

The hunters who appeared to be wrapping up an incredibly off-key round of acapella karaoke.

 

“The primadonna life, the rise and fall… You say that I'm kind of difficult!” The oldest, and biggest hunter crooned in a pretty incredible falsetto.

“Primadonna giiirrll!” Christie joined in, before being actually decked with a backhanded slap by a male hunter who joined in with the ripped old guy to finished off the song.

“Those aren’t the words. Idiot!”

“But it's always someone else's fault. Got you wrapped around my finger, babe.”

“You can count on me to misbehave!” Lance yelled out jovially.  
“Primadonna girl!” They finished, all harmonizing in vastly different key signatures.

 

As Lance began to lead the group in a surprisingly coordinated rendition of…

“We're soarin', flying. There's not a star in heaven that we can't reach.”

 

None of them noticed the absence of Stiles. Or the rapid tattoo of feet beating a flattened forest floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wolfsbane is toxic to people, quick reminder for 80% of fics!  
> The numbness comes from the strain of purple wolfsbane I used in the fic, which originates from Tibetan Meditation and also includes hallucinations. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Allison's Hyena-Killer Axe](https://www.tacxtactical.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/United-Cutlery-UC2765.jpg)


	5. My Teeth and Ambitions are bared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I forgot to update on Friday. But NONE of you reminded me! Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA  
> Please read my end notes

ᴡᴇʀᴇʜʏᴇɴᴀ ɢᴇɴᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇʟʏ ᴄᴏᴅᴇᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ, ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴄʜʀᴏᴍᴏsᴏᴍᴀʟʟʏ ᴄᴏᴅᴇᴅ ʙᴀsᴇ ᴘᴀɪʀs. ᴛʜɪs ᴍᴇᴀɴs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ, ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ, ʀᴜɴs ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴠᴇɪɴs ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ᴜsᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴍᴀɴʏ sᴘᴇʟʟs ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇsᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ʟɪғᴇ.  ᴀɴ ᴇxᴛʀᴀᴄᴛ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟғ ɢᴇɴᴇ ɢᴇᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜʀᴏɴᴏʟᴏɢɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴄᴀɴᴀᴅᴀ ᴛᴏ sᴘᴀɪɴ.

_Supernatural Sciences, Grey, S. (2002)._

 

Peter worked through the wolfsbane strain first. They were running behind Scott, and then in front as the beta’s ability to fight though the numbing effects of the purple wolfsbane dissipated.

 

The pack had no plan, no back up and everything to lose. Every wolf running headlong into danger with minimal feeling in their limbs and still all kind of hazy on the details.

 

It was stupid beyond belief.

 

But Peter had faith. His only officially-human, technically-hyena packmate was out there, biding his time until he would swoop in and save them.

 

He had still been high as a kite when they left the clearing that the pack house was centred in, but Peter was mostly sure that Stiles was entirely unaffected by the drug. Stiles hadn’t mentioned to him specifically that he was fully immune to wolfsbane, but he had enough magic to cast it around him and others in protective circle of epic proportions. However, even humans, magical or not, had a sensitivity to the toxic properties of wolfsbane.

 

_Hyenas are symbols of the loop of life, conception to death…_

 

Stiles had told him that, but now he realised what it meant. Wolfsbane symbolised death for werewolves. Stiles was apparently above that.

 

Stiles may have never once used his full shift abilities. But after spending little under a day with the hyena adolescent, Peter realised why. He could piece it together.

 

_Do you want the bite? You'll become like us. Yes or no?_

_I don't wanna be like you._

_You are lying to yourself._

 

Stiles wanted to be like the wolves. For whatever reason, history had decided that wolves were better in some way, on top of the apparently internationally rampant hyena extermination. And Stiles believed that. He believed that the death part of his duality made him dirty. The first words he’d offered to Peter after revealing the fact that he had been magical all this time hadn’t been an excuse for keeping a secret of that magnitude from him or the pack. The first words he’d offered to Peter as restitution was an apology for tricking Peter into letting him in. Letting him close. Letting him be a part of their pack, their family.

 

Stiles hadn’t locked away all of his hyena abilities, the night vision, wolfsbane and feral wolf calming apparently being the tip of an eight-foot iceberg with golden fur and black eyes. He hadn’t locked those powers away because he wanted to avoid the supernatural kingdom, or because he was a coward. Stiles abandoned his incredibly powerful genetic heirlooms because he thought that it was enough.

 

It was enough for anyone close to him to drop him like an overly ambitious New Year’s resolution.

It was enough to get him killed, not for anything of all the considerable things that he’d done, but because his body would be used for it’s spare parts.

It was enough to rip apart families.

 

Peter had a distinct feeling though, that Stiles would wait to be certain that the wolves couldn’t handle the rescue and retrieval on their own.

 

They were all high and feeling in their limbs was dropping in and out like a dodgy telephone connection. And Peter had no love for Scott, but the kid would be slaughtered if they let him go on alone, find the hunters while still screaming about his star-crossed love for Allison.

 

“Juliette, your Romeo is coming to save you!”

“Do be quiet, Scott.” Peter ordered, glad that Scott was at the back where he belonged with his poor control and discipline. Something that came out especially strong during fights.

“You’ll give away our position.” Derek grumbled.

“Also!” Peter snapped, “Six people die in that _tragedy_ , so I’d love it if you tried to not compare yourself to anyone in that overhyped Shakespearian mess.”

 

There was silence as the seven wolves trudged the rest of the way to the cabin.

 

It was ashen grey, several layers of peeling paint revealing every colour change the small building had gone through over the past three decades.

Peter reached out with his senses and was frankly surprised to find that there was no layer of wolfsbane protection or defence encircling the cabin. A lot of hunter-made buildings had wolfsbane built into the foundation with some small wooden panel completing the circuit that could be removed to let in any prisoners.

 

This building had nothing. Either the hunters who had taken the Argent duo were extremely dangerous or extremely stupid. Most likely both based on the Hale pack track record.

 

“So, Peter, what’s our plan?” Derek asked, snapping his fingers at the twins who immediately moved to restrain Scott, who was still trying to shamble on alone towards the cabin.

“Scott, Isaac and Jackson.” Peter stamped out, voice crisp. You three are bait.

Jackson had gotten the least exposure to the powder, due to sheer luck that he was seated next to the open window, so he seemed the clearest headed of the bitten wolves.

“Isaac and Jackson, go with Scott once the twins let him up. Copy him so that the hunters think we’re all still under the effect of the purple wolfsbane.”

“How do you know that it was purple wolfsbane?” Isaac asked.

“Stiles said, he recognised the symptoms and the powder Derek dumped all over us.” Peter said curtly.

“Oh.” Isaac said quietly.

“Derek.” Peter addressed next. “Can you hear how many people are inside?”

Peter himself could hear five people, but the creepy cabin almost certainly had a basement that Peter’s beta senses couldn’t quite reach.

“Eight total.” Derek said, after inclining his head for a moment towards the building. “One is very slow and one of very fast. I’m assuming that those are Allison and Chris. One of them is knocked out and the other one is frightened for them.”

“What about the hyena?” Jackson said, trying to appear unaffected by the staggering odds but his eyes were glimmering with hope. “I know we didn’t figure out who they are but if we howl then maybe they’ll come and… you know, solve it!”

Derek reached out a hand and clasped the back of Jackson’s neck. “Jackson, that’s a good plan, but we can’t know for sure the hyena will come. Those hunters down there are definitely going to kill the Argents and we’ll only speed up their time line if they hear a bunch of werewolf howling barely fifteen feet from their front door. There are six fully healthy, extremely prepared hunters in there. We’re drugged and winging it so we’ll need the element of surprise.”

Jackson slumped in on himself, but Peter was very proud of his nephew for thinking through their options so analytically.

“Once we’re inside and the surprise has worn off, we could probably try the howl just in case.”

“Derek and I burst in from either window and once we do, the drug-addled trio help us to attack.”

“And us?” Ethan asked, motioning to himself and his twin.

“You two stand on either side of the front door in case any of them try to escape or if we can get the Argent’s free and they make a break for it, in which case one of you help them to safety and the other stays there for back up.”

“Jackson, Isaac, Scott has recovered the least, which will be key in convincing the hunters that you’re still high and incapacitated. But that also means that he won’t be a lot of use in a fight. You should enter behind him so they’re focusing on him and his symptoms, but push him behind you before you attack.”

 

Humans made good anchors. You could touch and hold them, but wolves also were able to keep mementoes that reminded them of their human anchors when they were away or dead. Having another wolf as an anchor was dangerous. If a wolf’s anchor was a wolf who went feral, it almost guaranteed that they would go feral too. But humans were good.

 

And Allison wasn’t different. She helped anchor Scott from almost the beginning of his career as a third-rate werewolf. However, three years later, Scott and Allison had broken up more times than Scott had to repeat chemistry. They would fight over something insignificant and blow it out of proportion, breaking up at 135 decibels in a public place while screaming out each other’s insecurities and shortcomings. Before falling back together like they just couldn’t tear themselves out of each other’s orbit. Right now, Scott and Allison had been together for two months, despite the fact that they had just celebrated their two-year anniversary – having conveniently forgotten that at least half that time they had spent in relationship purgatory.

 

The result? Scott struggled with control always, as though the periods where he was anchorless averaged out with the times that he and Allison represented the concept of co-dependency. Right now, Scott was holding his limp left arm against his chest, the intensity of the numbness disconcerting him. His beta eyes flashing gold to brown and back again faster and faster.

 

“Scott.” Peter said, voice gentle and soft in a way it only ever was naturally with Stiles, but he forced it out of himself to try and make Scott do what was necessary. “If you really, really love Allison the way you say you do, you have to be as quiet as you can until you get inside and then, only talk about Allison, don’t tell the hunters that your pack is here.”

“I do, I love her.” Scott gasped suddenly. “I don’t know why we keep fighting, I love her so much but she just… makes me so angry and I know she says she doesn’t care that I’m a werewolf but sometimes I feel as though it’s driving a wedge between us.” Scott was crying now.

 

Peter didn’t even have the opportunity to tell him to shut the fuck up.

 

Two hunters waltzed out the cabin, as calm as anything, cigarette cartons held loosely in their fingertips and a lighter spinning in one hand.

 

The pack froze before leaping into action.

 

Peter wasn’t sure what had happened, exactly, all he knew was that they tried to fight but were taken down with embarrassing ease. It was his fault, he should have fought harder for restraining Scott back at the house instead of just following along with the plan to support Scott and prevent his imminent death.

 

Peter struggled against his bindings. There was no give. And yet, there was no tell-tale burn of wolfsbane. It was very dark inside the cabin. Allison and Chris were strung up… Peter hissed, by their wrists.  After blinking a few times, Peter realised that there was something very, very wrong with the light. Neither of the two crystal-clear windows had blinds but the dazzling light of the early afternoon sun barely penetrated into the room. It was like the shadows had density. That they were filtering out the sun in the way a thick fabric would.

 

Isaac and the twins were struggling against their restraints, Jackson was looking at the windows with the same curiosity as Peter had been. Derek was standing up straight, chin jutting out and his bound wrists behind his back meaning that he was pushing out his built chest, looking for all the world like his mother’s son, brave and defiant and strong in the face of what he didn’t know.

 

Then, enter stage left, Supreme Edgelord Number One. A man clad entirely in black and – oh dear lord, was that a cape?

“Oh,” The shadow mage groaned, looking like a child in a grim reaper costume from the dollar store. “Woof, I knew there were animals around these parts, but I thought they were dogs, not lemmings following each other to their doom.”

“Who are you supposed to be?” Isaac said, petulant. “Kylo Ren?”

“No.” Sneered the man, while Peter resisted the urge to ask to be untied so he could high five his younger pack mate.

“I am Bradley Morgan. The dark lord over the shadow and the night.”

Jackson picked up, somehow, on Peter’s telepathic urging for them all to stall.

“Okay, Brad!” Jackson said in the most condescending tone that Peter had ever heard. It was kind of amazing.

 

Stiles would come. Stiles was coming.

 

It made sense now, Brad the wonderbread had them restrained with shadow magic.

“I believe, gentlemen…” Peter said softly. “That our new bro, Brad, here, is a shadowmancer.”

Only Derek understood the implication. The Alpha laughed right in Wannabe Kylo’s face with a nasty smirk.

“What’s so funny?” Ethan asked, looking terrified but smelling of grim determination. Before he answered, Peter let himself revel in that scent, that despite a tricky start, his younger pack mates trusted him enough to go along with a plan they didn’t know all of. It was an honour to receive their hard-won trust.

Derek managed to answer first. “You know necromancy, right?”

Ethan nodded on Aiden’s behalf.

“Well, controlling shadows is the practise that younger necromancers go through.”

“What Derek is saying, is that Brad had the powers of a young teenager and probably the same amount of training.”

“Enough!” Brad yelled, sounding like he was about to cry. “Why would I need to control bones when all of darkness will rush to do my bidding.”

Chris looked horrified, but then, he’d never trusted Peter, he’d always believed that Peter would just snap one day and try and get back his wickedly megalomaniacal alpha powers back. Most likely by killing Derek in a huge bloody display. He’d described it very viciously to Derek once, unaware that Peter was just upstairs. The amount of detail was so unnerving that Derek had uncomfortably asked the hunter to leave without even addressing the possibility of the threat.

Chris didn’t trust Peter. But every other wolf here did. Except Scott who was sobbing again, this time over Allison’s unconscious body strung up against the wall with duct tape and chains. Scott would go along with plans if Peter explained how and why for every strategy and explicitly stated that ideally no one should die. However, he wouldn’t just lean back into the support system of his pack without looking, he wouldn’t really trust any of them except Allison and sometimes Stiles.

 

The hunters, grown men and women were starting to look unimpressed at the way the twenty-year-old shadowmancer was all but throwing a tantrum in the face a few slight insults from their prey.

 

A house divided is easier for Peter to take advantage of, as they say.

 

“The Argents are no longer trusted to manage the Nemeton-centric territory of Beacon Hills.” One of the hunters rattled off formally. “The Hale pack has failed in their duty to protect their territory and the people in it and the supernatural ruling body known as the Alpha Pack has failed to respond to our concerns that Beacon Hills is drawing in too many supernatural creatures to be handled by either the Argent family or the New Hale Pack.”

Peter had heard legends of the Alpha pack, coming in to tame and control out of control pack and other conglomerates of magical people.

“The Alpha Pack have been punished for their negligence.”

“Who died and made you king of all the supernatural realm?” Ethan spat out with unbridled contempt.

“The Alpha pack.” Another hunter repeated impatiently.

 

Then, Peter heard something outside. A single crunch. Something only he had been listening for.

“This is your final warning.” Peter said, addressing their captors. Chris gasped in horror and fear. Peter ignored him. “Let us all go, and we’ll allow you to leave Beacon Hills and continue in your work as a supernatural regulatory body. The Hunter Pack.”

“And?” Brad asked, leaning in so close that Peter could feel the rank heat of his breath brushing against the skin on his right cheek. “If we chose to leave you here until we’ve taken care of the Argents and then extinguish you with my shadows like candle light in the breeze.”

Peter rolled his eyes at the simile.

“Then, Brad, I cannot guarantee your safety or the safety of any of the hunters who work for you.”

Peter’s subtle insult worked like a charm. Instead of questioning the seemingly bluffing threat, the hunters all leapt to their defence.

“We do not work for Bradley!”

“We hired him!”

 

The hyena was coming, closing in on the cabin like a heat-seeking missile with teeth. The other wolves must have been able to hear that racquet, but Chris still was focused on Allison and the hunters were still defending their independence of the teenage emo shadowmancer.

 

“This offer has a limited time offer. Let us go.”

“Or what?” The first hunter said waspishly. “You don’t have any cavalry.”

Unbidden, every conscious person in the cabin (except for Scott who was still crying over Allison), turned to look at the door.

 

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, the door shattered into splinters as the golden form of Peter’s boyfriend burst in, roaring louder than any werewolf alpha could dream. The hyena – Stiles, glowed in the magical darkness of the small room, tendrils of shadow evaporating over his spotted fur like water over a furnace.

 

The hunters went for their guns and tripped immediately on the solid mass of magical shadow.

 

“Bradley, you fucking fuck!” One of them screeched and the young man was so surprised that he dropped all of his glamoured shadows.

 

Scott and Ethan collapsed, the numbness of the particular wolfsbane strain having migrated to their legs, but the rest of the pack leapt into action. Stiles took out two hunters before they could reach their weapons, one by slashing him across the abdomen, and the other by throwing him so hard through a wall that it made Peter hopeful that it wasn’t load bearing.

 

Peter and Jackson helped each other beat up a blonde hunter, supporting and covering for each other through the haziness. Leaning on each other through the battle as the feeling in their limbs waxed and waned.

 

Derek held one hunter in place by the back of his neck while Isaac headbutted him into submission, arms hanging limply on either side of his torso.

 

Only Brad and one hunter were still standing. Scott had managed to get up and attempt to get Allison and Chris down from their hanging spot, while Ethan was still on the floor.

The hyena growled and stepped in between the pack and Brad the baby necromancer, the dangerous sound trickling down Peter’s spine like icy water in the most delicious way.

 

Peter had been hitting on Stiles in earnest since his seventeenth birthday. Teasing little touches, snippy little one liners, sexy talking when he knew Stiles could hear him. But, before Peter had discovered that his boyfriend was actually one of the last werehyenas alive on the planet, Peter could only ever comprehend their relationship in one dynamic. Two men, both alike in dignity, with the same ideas of justice and punishment for those who threatened the people of Beacon Hills. The same beliefs but one with the capabilities to carry out their brand of justice and one without. And, of course, the species discrepancy didn’t bother Peter in the least, he did ask Stiles out when he thought he would only ever be human, but it brought a certain kind of thrill to Peter’s pounding heart to think of them in terms of equal fighters, Peter a little more experienced and trained, Stiles a little bit stronger and faster and more invulnerable.

 

The shadows twitched and tried to grab Stiles again, the elementary death magic no match for Stiles’ internal life force, the shadows unable to breach the beaming glow that Stiles’ full shift emanated.

 

Brad let out a truly undignified screech. “What even are you!”

Peter took two steps forward and peered around his boyfriend’s rippling torso. “He’s the cavalry, Brad.”

Stiles snorted, scar tissue of his snout crinkling as he laughed in the terrifyingly maniacal way. But Peter saw it for the amusement it was and not the battle cry it naturally represented. Stiles obviously hadn’t heard that the evil mage who had helped hunters kidnap the Argents and take out another group of benevolent hunters in one day was named after a frat boy.

While Brad began to complain and monologue about how he deserved this and demanded that, the hunter went for a concealed gun.

 

She fired.

Peter pushed Stiles aside.

Stiles folded easily, not expecting an attack from where Peter was standing.

The bullet tore through ligaments, sinew and muscle on its path to embed itself in Peter’s shoulder joint with an agonising splintering noise.

 

Stiles roared again as Peter collapsed to the ground, feeling the burn of wolfsbane enter his bloodstream. For the first time since he arrived, Peter witnessed the hunter and Brad work in perfect tandem as she threw Brad the gun full of bullets with the exact wolfsbane strain and mix as the one in Peter. Brad’s shadows closed in on the gun and when they evaporated, the gun was gone.

 

“Now!” The woman said, standing up straighter as though she was back in control pf the situation. It was still eight against one, because Peter knew Brad wasn’t going to stick his neck out for his friend.

“Now.” She said again. “If you want to know what exactly was in that bullet and where to get more then you aren’t allowed to touch me.”

Stiles’ paw reached out and picked the woman up by the front of her shirt. She whimpered in fear. She’d made a mistake destroying her gun.

 

“No!” Derek said, “We need the exact same type of wolfsbane to cure Peter. Please.” Derek’s voice splintered and broke. “Please, he’ll die.”

Derek collapsed at Peter’s side, drawing his head into his lap. Peter huffed at the uncharacteristically chummy behaviour.

Bradley stood by watching in silence, without acting.

 

Stiles’ eyes looked black, the same as last time Peter had seen him. The woman was struggling in vain against the hyena’s strength. Stiles stared down at Peter.

 

Peter felt his panic evaporate. Stiles would keep everyone else safe, even if Peter fell. And there was no chance of a hunter giving up the location and name of the wolfsbane blend, whether they let her go or not. Stiles knew that. Stiles was as pragmatic as Peter. Stiles would do whatever it took to find the cure, but first, they had to get out of here in one piece.

 

As if he’d read his mind, Stiles easily spun the woman in a neat one-eighty and dropped her on her head, hard. She went out like Brad’s aforementioned candle light in the breeze.

 

“No!” Derek whimpered, putting his hand back on Peter’s shoulder to try and stop the blood flow.

 

Brad let out a sound like a gurgling drain and ran. He threw us shadowy obstacles behind him to slow any approach, but no one bothered following him. Brad might have the potential to use his shadowy abilities for incredible things, but he lacked ambition and creativity. In combination with his complete lack of team work, it meant he wasn’t a real threat.

 

Stiles leant down, terrifyingly scarred face barely an inch from touching Peter’s.

 

“It’s okay.” Peter said, addressing Derek while staring Stiles down. Derek looked like he was about to cry.

 

The hyena began to mime something with his massive clawed hands.

_Derek._

_Peter’s gunshot wound._

The charade for ‘remove’ was a lot trickier but after a few moments, Derek seemed to understand.

“I can’t remove the bullet, he’ll bleed more and won’t heal because of _you_!”

The hyena repeated the movement again, more emphatically.

“This would be easier if you were hu-man! Tell us what you want.” Jackson sing-songed and got a growl for his trouble.

“Just do it, Derek.” Peter said. If Stiles was insisting, then Stiles had a plan.

Derek extended his claws and reached in, digging out the bullet and eliciting a shout of pain from Peter.

Blood immediately began to gush, blood vessels disrupted by the removal of the flattened metal projectile.

 

Stiles wrinkled up his leather, gristled face in disgust. Derek watched on silently, though Peter could hear his alpha’s heartbeat racing up to dangerous levels.

Peter grunted in pain, but reached out to put a hand on the hyena’s shoulder to soothe Stiles who was panicking nearly as badly as Derek. Peter didn’t want Stiles to descend far enough that he couldn’t go through with his plan to save Peter.

 

Stiles leant closer before sticking his tongue inside the gunshot wound. Derek made a shout of alarm and began to push at Stiles, who fell away with his bloody tongue hanging out of his mouth and an expression of clear disgust. Peter barked out a laugh, even though his head was starting to swim from the blood loss.

 

Two seconds passed and then Peter arched up in agony, screaming.

Before Derek could try and attack the hyena for a third time, Peter called out through the pain.

“Wolfsbane… Burning.” Peter gasped out before slumping down in exhaustion.

“His saliva is counteracting the wolfsbane!” Chris said, watching Stiles try to scrape off Peter’s blood from his tongue in increasingly frantic motions.

 

After about a minute, the blood flow had stopped completely, and Peter could feel his joint and muscles knitting themselves back together. Another few minutes after that, Peter was fully capable of sitting up and climbing to his feet.

“I think that hurt more than pouring wolfsbane in the wound, but it worked.” Peter said. “Now let’s get the hell out of this disgusting shack.”

 

They filed outside, Stiles bringing up the rear.

 

 “You saved our lives, again.” Derek said in wonder, still bleeding sluggishly from one slash across his ribs and breathing like an unfit person who’d just run up the stairs to the Eiffel Tower. “Please, please don’t run away. We, would like to offer you a position in our pack. We promise not to let anyone in on your secret! We would never put you in harm’s way.”

 

Stiles hovered anxiously, Peter knew he was replaying the moment that Derek shoved him away. He wasn’t sure when he learned how to read Stiles so well but that awkward almost rocking motion was most definitely Stiles’ ‘I’m overthinking this’ tic.

 

Isaac approached carefully, shivering from cold but also quaking in fear. “You’re so strong, you can help protect us if people like the Rochesters come back, those were the people that you saved us from the other night.” He paused, rubbing his hands across each of his own biceps in a futile attempt to warm up from the psychosomatic cold snap. “Or Brad!”

 

Allison was watching the great beast with the kind of interest a particularly destructive child might have for a particularly wriggly insect. The hyena bared its teeth at her.

 

Derek whipped his head around and regarded the huntress with suspicion. “Hand over the hemlock axe, we’re destroying it.”

 

“No!” Allison said, “I need it.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Said Chris crisply. “Allison, he just saved our lives, and hyenas are so rare it’s likely that he’s the only one we’re ever going to meet. You don’t need the axe, but without a doubt we’ll need this…man’s?” He paused, the hyena nodded hesitantly, “This man’s help. And no offence, but I wouldn’t trust anyone who was in arms reach of something that could kill me.” Chris finished, walking back into the cabin at a limp and returning with the axe.

 

“I promise, we’ll get this destroyed as soon as possible, and no one in your new pack will ever hurt you.”

 

The hyena stood still. Barely breathing.

 

“Hey.” Peter said softly. “It’s okay, no one is going to be mad.”

 

And Stiles took a deep, rattling breath, scar tissue scrunching.

 

And shifted back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes the 1:12 quote is slightly off, you'll live.   
> Let me know if you saw my ultra-sneaky Romeo and Juliet quote, or my extra-sneaky, extra-wrong, Dr Who quote?  
> Me trying to write this: *Remembers that Teen Wolf thinks 'murder is bad'*
> 
> And then Stiles replaces Scott as the Right hand, and I have two possible bonus scenes rattling around. I didn't bother writing the pack's reaction or Stiles explaining everything to them because I felt like it's fairly obvious and you guys already know everything. But that is an option. 
> 
> The other option is the story of how Stiles got his super gnarly facial scar on his hyena. It's obvious (at elast to me?) but I could write that.   
> Neither/Either would be for a while, but if I get enough response I'll write something out!

**Author's Note:**

> A significant chunk of hyena abilities and powers are drawn from mythology taken from Persia (Iran), Nigeria, including the Bornu tribe, and Ethiopia, mainly their Kaffa Kingdom and the Ethiopian Bouda religion stemming from the tribe of the same name. Also, the mimicry is taken from _Crocotta_ by the Roman author Pliny. I don't go into too much detail within the fic as, of course, Stiles isn't from Iran or Africa and I felt as though it would be insensitive to imply that his powers came from there.


End file.
